Dangerous
by Dalek Tea Service
Summary: Jack Savage made a mistake. The kind of mistake that someone in his line of work can't afford to make, not ever, unless they want to end up face-down in a gutter. Down in the Marches, knowing when to keep your nose out of trouble is everything. It's too bad he's made a career out of doing the exact opposite.
1. ONE

**ONE**

* * *

 _Help me._

 _You won't need much of anybody's help. You're good. Chiefly your eyes, I think, and that throb you get in your voice when you say things like "Be generous, Mister Spade."_

 _...I deserve that. But the lie was in the way I said it, not at all in what was said. It's my own fault if you can't believe me now._

 _Ah. Now you_ _ **are**_ _dangerous._

 _-_ The Maltese Falcon

* * *

For a few moments, Jack Savage wondered if he had stepped back in time.

It was so, so familiar. He'd been here so many times before. Past midnight, raining in the Marches, surrounded by neon and slow music and the sound of distant thunder. And there, just at the edge of detection, the thing that had been missing for so, so long. The smell of cigarettes - Ambassador Gold Seals, sweet, sultry things - winding down the rickety stairs up to his apartment.

He couldn't stop himself. It was reflex. After a while, he forced himself to exhale, forced the familiar smell out of his head. Shook himself.

Went upstairs.

He didn't know how she'd gotten inside. He'd taken her key. But there she was, like she'd never left, lounging – it was the only word that fit – lounging on the beaten old leather couch, with the dim orange light turning her red coat into a sunset wrapped in a dusky purple suit, cigarette in one hand. A radiant fox-queen, descending into the slums to grace him with her presence.

She exhaled as he entered, enveloping him in a long, slow cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

He glared.

After a while, she sighed and said, "All right. So we're going to do it this way."

He shut the door and, very slowly, in absolutely no sort of rush, shrugged out of his hat and coat. Just as he finished hanging them on the rack and turned back, mouth opening to speak, she cut him off.

"Not even a hello?"

One of his hands had clenched into a fist as the words died in his throat. He relaxed it slowly.

"No."

He forced himself to look away from her face. She had that look on her, the one she wore when she wanted to appear as though she were sorry and too proud to show it. He stepped around to the other side of the couch, making his way into the kitchen. His ears were ramrod straight, directly forward. Away from her. As good as screaming in her face.

He kept the anger wound like a spring. Forced it tighter. He did not slam the refrigerator door.

"Jack."

He did not turn.

"Jack, I can't stay."

"Good." He was proud of that one. No emotion in it but satisfaction. Not even anger. It might almost have been part of a pleasant conversation.

There was a sigh, and he heard the couch creak as she stood up. The carpet rustled as she strode across it. Outside, the music swelled. The spring got tighter.

She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, cigarette dangling from between two fingers as she watched him. He continued slicing cucumber. He did not look at her face. She was standing in the spot where the neon outside would reflect in her right eye, just slightly, and she would be watching him with a half-lidded gaze. It was bad enough without having to see it.

"I'm sorry."

The bang echoed around the room. His hand would be sore later. He might even have left a dent in the countertop.

"Get out," he said. A snarl. Almost like one of hers.

"I will," she said. She was calm. He hated that. Calm and... wistful. "I'm not staying. But I had to come. To warn you."

He glared at her. It was a mistake, making eye contact. Neon glinted. The spring creaked.

And she just shook her head, pushed off of the door frame, and took two steps closer. He clamped down again.

"It's gone wrong, Jack," she said. "I'm not going to tell you what it was, because I know you, and I want you out of it. I want you out of _here_. I still care about you that mu-"

The look he gave her should have reduced her to ash.

After a moment, she sighed, and her tail flicked through the air behind her. "Right," she said. "I understand. And, for just this once, I won't push." She shut her eyes and took another drag on her cigarette. This time, she had the courtesy to exhale away from his face. "There's money in the briefcase under the sofa," she said, without looking at him. "Enough to get you out of here. Out of Zootopia. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do. Just... go." She paused, as if considering adding something more, but did not.

The knife clunked dully against the countertop as he set it down. He barely heard it over the rush of thunder in his ears. The world was red-hot, and the inside of his head was too tight, too tight. Walking was hard. Retrieving the suitcase, opening it, shutting it again was hard. Setting it calmly down by the door, instead of the hundred other things he could imagine doing with it, was still harder.

"I do not take bribes," he grated, without turning around. The wood of the door should have caught fire under his gaze.

" _It's not a bribe._ " The little tremor, the hiss of insistence, in her voice was perfectly calculated. It was a tool. He knew it was. "It's a... an _offer_. Hell, Jack. Think of it as me begging if you like." He could hear her crossing the carpet behind him. Drawing closer. "I need you _gone_. Things are bad, and they're going to get worse, and I _don't want you in it_."

A thousand different retorts roared across his brain. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many that would be oh so _satisfying_ , that would make her gasp and recoil and do that little motion, the full-body shudder that was her fighting down the urge to cry -

\- that was her _lying_ about fighting that urge.

He stepped aside, pulling the door open with him, and looked up at her, expression blank.

"Leave," he said flatly. He nudged the suitcase toward her with one foot.

Her eyes were wide as she stared down at him. "Jack, _please._ "

"Leave," he said again. He bent, picked up the suitcase, and held it out towards her. "And do not come back."

Her eyes, brilliantly green even in the dim light, darted from his face to his chest to the set of his shoulders to the suitcase. She opened her mouth. Her chest hitched, as if she were fighting for air. As if she were choking on the things she wanted to say.

On the lies she knew he would not believe.

Dull, molten rage beat through his veins. Dull and hot and, now, harnessed. There was no opening for her. He could see her realizing it.

She very carefully avoided having their fingers brush together as she took the suitcase.

There were no parting words. She did not look back, and he shut the door before she was even halfway down the staircase.

After a while, he turned and, very slowly, very delicately, as if afraid that something might shatter if he moved too quickly, set both hands on the back of the couch. The frame of it creaked under his grip.

In the dark of his apartment, surrounded by slow music and the sound of rain and the sweet smell of smoke, hands and jaw and joints and eyes clenched tight enough to snap, Jack Savage stood for a long time and simply breathed.


	2. TWO

**TWO**

* * *

 _HERE BEGINS THE SEVENTH BOOK, WHICH TREATS OF BEASTS._

 _37\. THE ELECTION OF THE KING._

 _In a lovely plain through which ran a lovely stream, many beasts were gathered together to elect a king. The majority agreed that the lion should be king; but the ox was very much opposed to this choice, and he said: "Gentlemen, a king's nobility must be accompanied by beauty of person; he must be at the same time large and humble, and he must do no harm to others. The lion is not a large beast, nor one that lives on grass, but rather one that eats other beasts. The lion has a speech and voice that make us all tremble with fear when he roars. So if you take my advice, you will elect the horse as king; for the horse is a large beast, and handsome and humble; the horse is a nimble beast, not proud in his ways, and does not eat meat."_

 _The red deer, the roe deer, the sheep, and all the other plant-eating animals were very pleased with what the ox had said, but Dame Reynard stepped forward to speak before them all, saying: "Sirs, when God created the world, He... willed that man should be served by beasts, and man lives on meat and plants alike. You should therefore pay no attention to what the ox says, since he dislikes the lion for being meat-eating; instead you should follow the rules and dispositions God has given and placed over all creatures..."_

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Nick Wilde felt like death.

He always did, this early in the morning. Having two six o' clocks in the same day was quite definitely against Nature's Way, he was sure. In fact, he was dangerously close to two fives, and that didn't bear thinking about. There was something about the idea that caused his entire brain to shut down in rebellion.

But he didn't show it. He never did. He worked very, very hard to ensure that he never showed it, in fact. So, despite the disgustingly early hour, despite the exhausting twelve-hour shifts, despite the rain and the heat and the thunder, despite even the fact that this was an _on_ week and he'd be pulling this for the next four days instead of three, it was a perfectly bright and chipper Nick Wilde that opened the front door to Precinct One and sauntered inside, umbrella in one hand and drinks in the other.

Umbrella shake, tug it closed one-handed - neat trick, that one, took a while to get working - slip under arm, kick door shut without looking (unnecessary, but looked good), continue the motion into a little spin on one heel, wander to desk. Set down drink carrier. Grin.

"Morning, Clawhauser."

"Oh, good _morning_ , Nick!" Clawhauser looked up from his phone - ah, well, the crowd wasn't always watching, but that didn't mean you could drop the act - and fixed Nick with one of his smiles. Judy called them "angelic". Nick preferred "cherubic", himself; angels weren't usually so plump. "Did you have much trouble with the traffic? I heard there was an accident on Trip Street."

"Nope." Nick plucked up his coffee from the little cardboard drink carrier and resisted the urge to chug the entire thing right there. _Coffee. Sweet elixir of life. Ambrosia. Sanity in a cup._ "So what's the score?"

He allowed himself a sip.

"Well, you beat her this morning," said Clawhauser brightly. He tapped on the screen of his phone again. "Which brings us to… twenty-two for you against thirty-seven for her."

Nick feigned choking on his coffee for a moment, then fixed the cheetah with a mock glare. "I demand a recount. Morning, Fangmeyer."

The last bit got a grunt and a wry smile, which was as close to an actual return greeting as the tigress ever gave. Nick gave her a little two-fingered salute as she vanished through one of the other doors.

"If you've got a problem with losing, you should try getting up a little earlier," said Clawhauser. Nick made a face. The cheetah just laughed. "Or you could take it up with her," he said. "I think that's her now."

Nick raised an eyebrow and turned back towards the front door. He very definitely did not let his customary smirk grow by an inch or two when he saw the silhouette of a pair of huge rabbit ears against the doors of the precinct.

He couldn't stop it from shrinking a bit when the doors opened to reveal someone who was very definitely not Judy Hopps, though.

He was a he, for a start, and the fur was a few shades too light. Odd, almost tiger-like stripes on the face and ears, too. Pronounced limp, favoring the left leg. Old-fashioned clothes - dark brown suit, suspenders, jacket left unbuttoned, with a heavy longcoat and old-fashioned hat to keep off the rain.

It was mostly the face, though. The expression. She just didn't have it in her to look that completely _neutral_ about something. Whatever Judy was feeling, she showed. Looking at this guy, on the other hand, was like looking at a wall.

The brief glance he spared for Nick as he stepped inside and removed his hat was utterly uninterested. Nick just blinked.

"Oh, hey, Jack!" It was Clawhauser's voice. Nick blinked again, and turned to stare at the chubby cheetah. "Long time no see! How've you been, buddy?"

The rabbit… didn't smile, exactly. It would be more accurate to say that his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, to hint at the _possibility_ of a smile. He did, at least, nod to Clawhauser as he strode up to the counter, just behind Nick.

It was strange, watching him walk. The limp was there, and obvious, but he moved with surprising poise and confidence for a man with a bum leg.

"Officers," he said. Strange accent. Gnu York, maybe. Sharp, harsh, and clipped. "Am I interrupting?"

Clawhauser opened his mouth to speak, but Nick cut across him. "Nope," he said smoothly, as he turned to prop one elbow against the counter. "Just enjoying a bit of peace and quiet before the shift. Welcome to the ZPD. What can we do ya for?"

He finished it off with one of his most ingratiating grins, and allowed himself another sip from his coffee. Partly because it had been a dangerously long time since the last, and his brain was threatening to shut down, and partly because it gave him the opportunity to watch the rabbit's expression shift again as he turned to look at Nick.

A quick, practiced glance. The rabbit's eyes flashed to Nick's face, then chest, then belt, then badge, then back to face. Sizing him up, obviously, but there was no real anger in the rabbit's expression. A slight, barely noticeable narrowing of the eyes indicated mild annoyance, but nothing more. It was _routine_ , something done automatically, something so habitual that he hadn't even thought about it.

Clawhauser coughed. "Oh, yes. Uh, Jack, this is-"

"Officer Nicholas Piberius Wilde," said Jack. He shifted his hat into his left hand and stuck out his right towards Nick. Again, that barest hint of a smile. "I know. My pleasure."

"Charmed." Nick set down his coffee and accepted the handshake. Surprisingly firm, for a rabbit, but short. A simple up-down-release, professional and perfunctory. The kind of handshake you gave when you didn't actually care. He kept smiling anyway. "I've got a reputation now, I guess. And you are…?"

"You've always had a reputation, Officer," said the rabbit, as he lowered his hand. "Just not always the same one you do now. Jack Savage. Private investigator."

This time, there actually _was_ a smile. The very smallest possible, nothing more than the barest upturning of the corners of the mouth, but it was there. And now his eyes said something like… satisfaction.

"Ohhh," said Nick. "Flatfoot. Gotcha. Here on business, right? Well, don't let me stop you." He tapped a fingertip on top of the spare coffee. "I'm just waitin' on someone." He leaned back against the counter, arms over his chest and eyes on the door.

Savage waited a perfectly-calculated moment, then looked back to Clawhauser. Nick had to admit, even if he'd never say it out loud, that it was a pretty impressive routine. It wasn't perfect - it was still recognizably _a routine_ , after all - but it was the best he'd seen from a bunny.

Jack Savage wanted something, and didn't want to be interrupted. Nick had irritated him. He had responded by… well, Nick had always thought of it as _limelighting_ , of making sure the spotlight was on you - and, more importantly, making sure everybody else knew it. Cut across Clawhauser, establish that Nick was a known factor and not important at the moment. All while remaining perfectly polite, if a bit curt. Easy way of getting control of any social situation, if no one knew how to take it back. Even his stance, turned towards Clawhauser as if Nick were simply not there, was tailored for it.

Nick let it ride.

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten all about us," Clawhauser was saying, a bit plaintively. "It's been _months_. You know you're always welcome around here."

"I appreciate that." Savage was still wearing that tiny little not-smile.

"So who is it this time?" Clawhauser leaned forward over the counter and propped up his chin in both hands. "Ooh, I bet it's Ernst. I _knew_ she'd be taking that case. She never could-"

"I'm not here for Ariadne," said Savage. Nick's ear twitched. There was an edge to those words.

Clawhauser blinked. "Oh. Sorry. Did you start working with someone else?"

"No." There was a pause. Nick turned his head to gaze sidelong at the rabbit. There wasn't any point in pretending not to be listening any more. The brief silence was a break in the routine. It was as good as screaming. "I'm here to ask a favor."

That got Nick to turn fully towards Savage again, one eyebrow raised, still leaning against the counter. Savage gave him only a brief glance, but this time, the annoyance in his expression was plain. And the… embarrassment, maybe. Nervousness? Worry? Anger? Hard to tell. Even knowing the mask was a mask, it was still hard to tell what was behind it.

Clawhauser didn't seem to notice. His eyes just widened as he said, in tones of sudden worry and sympathy, "Of course. How can I help?"

Savage looked back to him and stepped up to the edge of the counter, expression serious. One hand reached into his longcoat, extracted a small notepad, and offered it to Clawhauser. "I need access to these records," he said. Another glance to Nick, fleeting and defiant, as if daring him to say anything. "And I need to know if the ZPD has any open cases related to Ariadne Reynard."

Clawhauser took the notebook carefully, but didn't open it. His wide eyes stayed fixed on Savage. "W-well," he said, looking shocked, "I mean - if you don't have court approval… I'll have to ask the Chief about the records. But… cases about _Miss Reynard?_ " He sounded utterly disbelieving, and leaned forward across the counter again to whisper, "Has something happened?"

"I don't know yet," said Savage flatly. "That's why I'm asking."

The door opened again. This time, it _was_ Judy, soaked from head to toe and clutching a mangled wreck of something that had probably been an umbrella. She stamped up to Nick, scowling at the air, and snatched his coffee out of his hand before tipping back a huge mouthful. Nick blinked.

"And good morning to you, too, Carrots."

Judy held up her umbrella hand, one finger lifted, as she continued to chug. Clawhauser, still leaning forward over the counter, stared. Savage looked back at her over one shoulder, sighed, and shook his head. Now he was openly frowning.

Water pooled around Judy's feet.

"Pfffah." She gasped, lowered her hand, and pressed the considerably lighter coffee cup back into Nick's hands. "Do _not_ talk to me about the train right now, and _especially_ do not talk to me about elephants. I've got to go and wring out my-" She stopped. "Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Savage sighed and stepped away from the counter. "No," he said flatly. "I was just leaving. Ben, if you can convince the Chief, just give me a call." His gaze fell on Judy, and Nick watched as she received the same quick, measuring look that he had. He also noted the slight tightening around the eyes, and the twitch at the corner of the mouth. "I've got work to do."

"But-" Clawhauser sounded distraught. Almost panicked. "But- you can't just _leave!_ What's happening with Miss Reynard? Why should we be investigating her?"

Judy blinked and cast Nick a quizzical look before turning back to Savage, but the other rabbit just shook his head and put his hat back on, folding his ears down along his back.

"Now, where did I say you _should_ be investigating her?" he said. "I just wanted to know if you _are_."

Clawhauser looked utterly lost. Savage, on the other hand, just nodded sharply to him, once. Then to Nick, and then to Judy, with a brief, clipped "Officer Hopps" accompanying. Then he turned on his heel and limped back towards the door, lifting a hand to wave back at them over one shoulder. "You know where to find me, Ben. I appreciate it."

And then the doors were swinging shut behind him, and he was gone.

Judy stared after him for a moment, then turned, one eyebrow raised, to look at Nick and Clawhauser. "Whooooo was that?"

"A PI, apparently," said Nick. "But you'll have to ask Clawhauser about it later, Carrots. You cut it close on this one. Almost late for bullpen." He grinned, and pressed the near-empty coffee cup back into her paws. "Oh, and I win, by the way."

"What?" Judy drew herself up. "It's not my fault she fell asleep on me! This one doesn't count. I call interference."

"Nope," said Nick happily. "Sorry. Nothing in the rules about interference. You got here second. I win. Coffee's on _you_ tomorrow." He snatched up the full cup from the countertop. "And, since you drank more than half of that one, you keep it. Now come on, or Bogo'll put us on parking duty again."

Judy grit her teeth and grumbled something dark about sabotaging his alarm clock, but set off for the meeting room. Nick grinned at her retreating back for a moment, then glanced back towards Clawhauser, who was still looking completely adrift, and said, "You gonna be okay, buddy?"

Clawhauser blinked and looked up from the notepad clutched between his chubby fingers. "Oh. Uh. Yeah, I'll be fine. Just… confused, is all." He waved a hand, a small smile returning to his face. "Go on. You've got two minutes before the Chief starts threatening to write you up again."

A moment later, the lobby of Precinct One was empty again, leaving only the cheetah seated behind the counter, staring at the little notebook in his hands as if it were the most puzzling thing in the world.


	3. THREE

THREE

* * *

 _...The ox and his friends, however, argued against Dame Reynard's words, the ox saying that… she is interested in having the lion be king more because she lives on the leftovers from what the lion hunts and leaves uneaten, than because of the lion's nobility._

 _There was so much discussion on one side and the other that the entire court was thrown into confusion, and the election held up. Then the bear, the leopard, and the lynx, each of whom had hopes of being elected king, said that the court should be put off until it had been decided which animal was worthiest of being king._

 _Dame Reynard realized that the bear, the leopard, and the lynx were putting off the election because each had hopes of being king, and she said in everyone's presence:_

" _An election was once being held in a cathedral church, and in the chapter there was disagreement over the election of a bishop; for some canons wanted the sacristan of the church to be bishop, since he was a man of wisdom, culture, and virtue. The archdeacon, however, wanted to be elected bishop, and the same was true of the precentor, both of whom opposed the election of the sacristan, and permitted the election of an ordinary canon who was handsome but ignorant, and moreover of a weak character and very lascivious. The entire chapter was in great wonder at the attitude of the archdeacon and the precentor. In the chapter there was a canon who then said: 'If the lion is king, and the bear, the lynx, and the leopard disagree with his election, there will forever be ill will toward the king; and if the horse is king, and the lion commits some wrong against the king, how will the horse get his revenge, if he is not as strong as the lion?'"_

 _After hearing Dame Reynard's example, the bear, the lynx, and the leopard were very afraid of the lion; so they consented to the election and desired him to be king. Because of the pressure brought by the bear and the other meat-eating animals, and in spite of the plant-eating animals, the lion was elected king, whereupon he gave all meat-eating animals permission to eat and live off the grass-eating animals…_

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Flying blind.

It was never a good thing. In the Marches, flying blind could get you killed. Could get you _worse_ than killed. Could get people you cared about worse than killed. Knowing one little detail, knowing the one word to say or not to say, the one alley to avoid or the place to lay low, could be the difference between life and death.

And the Marches weren't half as dangerous as Ariadne Reynard.

He'd always known that. She bled danger from every pore. Very few predators in Zootopia actually carried themselves with the kind of sly, pointed confidence that country bunnies associated with them.

She did. She was claw and tooth and the hunt, all poise and grace and assurance. Wrapping herself in fine clothes and cigarettes and fancy language only made it more obvious.

They called mammals like her "courtroom sharks", but sharks had nothing on Ariadne Reynard.

And now he was flying blind, right into those pointed teeth.

He hated it. He hated it for a lot of reasons, not the least of which being that he was Jack Savage. If there was any mammal in the world who should have been _anything but_ blind about Ariadne Reynard, it was him.

But he had no leads. No ideas. No one to go to. He knew Chief Bogo's reputation. Without her backing, without Reynard Law's stamp of approval and the judge's signature, all "private investigator" meant was "rabbit who stuck his nose in where it didn't belong". No legal authority. No resources.

No access to the records.

Which meant that he was going to have to take a risk.

The rain was coming down in sheets now. Mist was crawling along the city streets, and the distant rumble of thunder was growing closer by the moment. Summer storm, rolling in, driving the heat before it. The city was sweltering. All the rain did was make the heat damp and clinging. And here, in the heart of the city, too far from the Marches, surrounded by buildings that were too tall and lights that were too clean and music that was too bright, surrounded by the crush of mammals making their way to work, Jack Savage was out of his depth.

Even so, he nearly turned away from the doors in front of him and set off back into the crowd. It took him a full ten seconds to work up the will to enter. Eventually, he took a deep, steadying breath and stepped through.

"Morning, Effie," he said. Voice bright, smile slight but present. Hat off. Slight nod of greeting.

The offices of Reynard Law were designed to impress. They did their job well. She had always been good at that sort of thing. Clean and simple in design, but furnished in things made of the type of rare wood that cost more per plank than he'd ever make in his life. It smelled of money - and always, here, a hint of Ambassadors.

The little golden-haired mouse perched on top of the desk looked up from her typing as he entered and squeaked in surprise, little eyes going wide. "O-oh," she said quietly. "Um. Mister Savage. It's, ah, good to see you. I- I didn't think…"

Jack let the smile fade. There wasn't much point to it. But he kept his voice gentle anyway. "I'm guessing she told you I might turn up." He removed his hat, shook some of the water off into the street outside, and then let the door fall shut behind him.

"Um. Yes." Effie wrinkled her nose at him and pushed up her tiny pince-nez glasses. When she spoke again, her voice was less shaky, more professional. "She said to tell you that she wasn't in."

"Yeah," said Jack, as he limped his way over to the counter. "I'm sure she did. Is she, though?"

"No." Effie frowned slightly at his expression, but kept her chin up. "She isn't. She's taking some time off. I'm only here to keep tabs on anyone trying to make appointments." She pursed her lips. "And to keep an eye out for nosy exes."

He let the little barb on the end pass without comment. Instead, he sighed, propped up one elbow against the countertop, groaned under his breath, and rubbed at his bum leg for a moment.

Effie just watched him through narrowed eyes.

After a moment, he sighed and straightened up a bit, running his hand instead through the fur on his head. "I think-"

"You are dripping on the countertop," said Effie sharply.

"Effie," said Jack, without moving, and without taking his eyes away from her face, "I think she's in trouble."

He saw the little flicker in her expression. It was brief, just a flash between two identical frowns, but it was there.

Easy target. He knew Effie. Knew how she worked. She could be a stone-cold harridan, yeah, but that was what she was _supposed_ to be. That was her _job_. She was trusted to make sure that the only people who got into the actual offices of Reynard and Associates were ones who were worth the time.

He hated having to push her buttons like that. It felt too much like what _she_ had done, over and over again, for so long.

But at least it wasn't a lie.

He inclined his head slightly and lifted an eyebrow. "You're worried, too."

Another flicker. Effie fidgeted on her tiny stool. This time, when she frowned again, she looked less contentious and more concerned. "Yyyyes," she said slowly. She blinked once, then turned back to the keyboard in front of her and began determinedly tapping on the keys. "I admit, she's seemed a bit… on edge recently. Upset about something. I had assumed that it was to due with work, but…"

"But work never bothers her," said Jack flatly. "And then she's taking a vacation. You have any idea where she might be?"

Effie didn't answer. Her tail flicked back and forth across the countertop, and her fingers clacked loudly over the keys, and she wrinkled her nose again as her glasses slipped down.

"Effie," said Jack quietly. "Where is she?"

The clacking stopped. Effie lowered her hands, pursed her lips again, and looked back up to him. "I want it known," she said, her voice sounding brittle and sharp, "that even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you, because she doesn't want to see you. And I _don't_ know, so asking me will do you no good. But if I had to guess…" She paused, then looked down at the countertop. "I would assume that she is with her boyfriend."

He was very, very careful to keep his expression neutral. "And who's he?"

"I don't know," said Effie quietly, without looking up. "And I do mean that, Jack. I don't know his name. I've only seen him once. A lion. He came to the offices to pick her up last week, when she left for her vacation." She raised her head. This time, her expression was just sad. "I am very sorry."

"Don't be." He straightened up, ignoring the tightening spring in his chest. "It wouldn't have worked."

"I just-"

He raised a paw, and she stopped. "It wouldn't have worked," he said again. "But she came to see me last night, Effie. At my place. No phone call, no warning. Nothing. Just there, even though she knows I don't want to see her. She…" He paused, watching the mouse's expression closely. Working out the words. "...told me things."

Effie wrung her hands in her lap and looked away again.

He hated himself.

"I think she's in trouble," he said again. "I think she's in real trouble, Effie, and you know she'd never ask for help. So I need to find her. But I've got nothing to go on."

"And you want access to her office," said Effie.

He sighed and lowered his paw. "Yes. I want access to her office." He shook his head. "If something's wrong, there might be records of it. There might be something to go on. Some way I can find her." He paused. When he spoke again, he hated the way he completely failed to keep his voice from shaking. " _Please_ , Effie."

There was nothing but the sound of the rain outside for a long time.

Effie raised her head and met his gaze with teary eyes. "No," she squeaked. "No, Jack. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I am so, so sorry. I always thought you two were - were perfect. But it's _over_ , Jack." She sniffed. "I'm sorry, but it is. And if she is in trouble, then it's the kind she doesn't want your help with, and that's her choice. Not yours. And that's - that's it. That's where it stops."

He watched silently as she lifted her paws, rubbed at her face with both, and toyed absently with the end of her hair. Then he nodded, once, straightened up, and slipped his hat back on. "Right," he said. "I… understand. Thanks anyway, Effie." He rapped his knuckles on the countertop, then turned on his heel and limped back towards the door.

"Yes," said Effie's voice from behind him. He could almost hear her slipping her glasses back on, wrinkling her nose, and slipping back into secretary mode. "Yes. Goodbye, Mister Savage. Have a nice day."

Outside, back in the rain and the heat and the crush of bodies, Jack paused, just for a moment, before stepping out from underneath the awning. He took a deep breath in through his nose, cleared his head of the scent of Ambassadors. Held it. Set off again.

Forced the spring tighter.


	4. FOUR

**FOUR**

* * *

 _38\. THE KING'S COUNCIL._

 _When the lion had been elected king, he made a fine speech before all his people, saying: "Sirs, it is your will that I be king. Now you all must know that the position of king is a very dangerous one, and very difficult... I therefore beg all of you gathered here together to give me councilors to help and counsel me in such a way that both I and my people may be saved. And I pray the that the councilors you give me be wise, loyal, and such as are worthy of being councilors and in the company of a king."_

 _All the barons and others of the assembly were pleased with what the king had said… It was agreed that the bear, the leopard, the lynx, the snake, and the wolf would be councilors of the king. All of them swore in presence of the court that they would give the king loyal counsel to the best of their abilities._

 _Dame Reynard, however, was unhappy at not having been elected king's councilor, and before the assembly she said the following words: "According to the Gospel, Jesus Christ, who is king of heaven and earth, preferred, in this world, the friendship and company of simple and humble men... in order that He might exalt them through their virtue, thus increasing their humility. Subject to the approval of all present, it would seem to me that the king should have in his council simple, humble beasts, so that they should have pride neither of power nor of lineage, nor want to be equals of the king, but rather give an example of hope and humility to the simpler beasts who live off grass."_

 _...And they all advised the king to take Dame Reynard, who spoke well and had great wisdom, into his council._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

The call came in at 2:49, while Nick was busy using Officer Francine Pennington's rather impressive bulk as a makeshift shelter against the rain. They had set up the roadblock at the intersection of Fog and Ivy, using their twin cruisers to block off traffic. Now McHorn was standing in the intersection, rerouting incoming cars as best he could, while Nick did his best to look like he was contributing something to the situation beyond being wet and miserable.

He wasn't, really. McHorn and Pennington were more than twice his size. They didn't need his assistance with directing traffic, and the phone in his hand was still playing light muzak while he waited for someone on the other end to actually pick up. So, for the moment, he was reduced to standing in a sort of half-crouch behind Pennington and wondering bitterly about how a rain poncho that was so big on him he could have used it as a tent could still leave him soaked to the skin.

He shot a glower through the window of the police cruiser, where Judy sat with her feet up on the dashboard, idly picking over the remains of her lunch salad and grinning from ear to ear. She waved cheerily to him, and then made a great show of stretching luxuriously and leaned back in her seat.

A few minutes later, he sighed heavily and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Road crews won't be here for another half-hour, at least," he said heavily. "We've got flooding all over Rainforest, and the Canals are basically underwater. Meadows look like they might go next, so they're prioritizing that."

"Wonderful," said Pennington. She pretended not to notice as he surreptitiously shifted a bit closer to her side. "So… what's your bet? Two hours?"

"At least three," said Nick. "I'm guessing we'll have more closures before too long. Doesn't look like it's about to let up, does it?"

He jerked a thumb towards the sky. It was past noon, but the storm overhead left the city cast in grays and blacks and blues so deep they were almost violet. Occasionally, a crack of thunder shook the asphalt under his paws.

"You sure the weather wasn't forecasting hurricanes with a light chance of apocalypse or something?" he said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the drumming of the rain. Pennington snorted - something to see, when an elephant did it - but before she could answer, Judy's voice echoed out of the air behind him.

"Hey, Slick!" she shouted. "Get your fluffy tail in here! We're off traffic!"

Pennington raised an eyebrow at him, but Nick just shrugged before turning to make a mad dash for the cruiser.

"Gaah! Nick, come on. At least _try_ not to get it everywhere," said Judy. "I _was_ nice and dry, for a few minutes." She recoiled from the impromptu shower that had resulted from Nick trying to shrug out of his poncho and pressed herself against the driver's side door.

"Oh, please," Nick huffed, as he shoved the worthless plastic thing under the dashboard and sank into his seat. "I felt like a drowned rat out there. Pretty sure I saw a couple drifting by, too." He ran a paw through the fur on top of his head, trying to slick some of the water out, and shook his head rapidly for a moment. "Pfffabhl. Right. Okay. Where are we going?"

"One-oh-two-four Shady," said Judy promptly, as she settled back into her seat and the cruiser rumbled to life under them.

Nick blinked. "Wait," he said. "We actually got a _call_ from Shady Place?"

Judy cast him a sidelong look. Outside, Pennington stepped out into the intersection, making room for them to pull away. "Yyyeah, we did. Why wouldn't we?"

Nick stared at her for a moment. "Hoo boy. Sometimes I forget how new you are." He shook his head again and settled back into his seat. "That's the Marches, Carrots. They don't like cops down there. The only time cops turn up on Shady is when there's a body to wheel off."

"Well, there's no body this time," said Judy, seemingly unimpressed by this. She still had the same self-satisfied smile on that she always did when they got sent somewhere. He could almost _hear_ her thinking "Yeah. Real cops. Doin' real cop work. That's us."

"So what is it, then?" he said, as he dripped onto the seat.

"A lost kid, apparently," said Judy. The cruiser's tires hissed, and she frowned for a moment as they slid through a puddle that turned out to be hiding a rather nasty pothole, but continued, "In one of the apartment buildings. They don't know the parents' phone number or anything."

"Huh," said Nick. "Well, at least they were smart enough to call the cops."

"They didn't," said Judy. One of her ears twitched. "Somebody else found them and made the call. I think it was the apartment manager."

Nick grunted and shut his eyes as he settled back into his seat. It was as wet as he was now, but at least he couldn't actually feel the rain on his fur any more. Besides, it saved him from having to watch Judy's driving, which always felt as though it were deliberately calculated to give him as severe a heart attack as possible.

And it wasn't as though he needed to actually have his eyes open to know how close they were getting, anyway. He could when they were crossing the Fog Street bridge by the sound the tires made - and even if that weren't the case, you could tell when you were in the Marches by lighting alone.

Elsewhere in Zootopia, particularly in the parts of downtown that Precinct One usually patrolled, the lights were bright, clean, and white, with maybe the barest hint of yellow around the edges. In the Marches, though, they still used the older, cheaper sodium street lamps, which lined the roads in harsh orange.

And then there was the neon. Cheap stuff, usually made from pieces of old signs that more upscale parts of the city had tossed. There was no real unity to it, and it tended to hiss and crackle and flash on and off in the rain, but when you were poor enough to have to salvage scraps, you learned not to complain too much about that.

Because that was what the Marches _were_. The poor place. Where you went when you didn't have enough cash to do anything _but_ live off the scraps from the rest of the city.

The Marches themselves were a consequence of Zootopia's unique construction. They were what happened when you shoved the swampiest end of the Canal District right up against the Rainforest District, then threw in a good chunk of Savannah Central for flavor, and then routed the runoff from Tundratown's rivers right down the center of the whole thing. What you ended up with was a long slice of the city, right in the shadow of downtown, where everything was humid and hot and built over half-exposed rivers and bogs.

There were only two kinds of people who lived in the Marches: people who couldn't afford better and people who wanted to avoid attention. It was not, on the whole, a place where cops were welcome.

1024 Shady Place turned out to be one of the nameless, dilapidated apartment complexes that the Marches were basically built out of. Eight stories of shoebox rooms and broken windows with a scenic view of… well, nothing much, at the moment. Buildings in the Marches were tall, with a tendency towards crazed leanings. They choked the light from the sky even on the brightest days. With the storm overhead, it may as well have been night.

Outside the windows of the cruiser, the Marches were a sea of black, dotted with islands of brilliant, flickering neon. If you slitted your eyes right, they looked almost like technicolor stars.

Nick heaved a great sigh as Judy parked them outside the apartment, then turned his head to grimace at her. "Do we really have to go?" he said. "I was just starting to get dry."

A few minutes later, the two of them were standing in the lobby, dripping all over everything. Against that downpour, umbrellas were worth less than the useless department ponchos.

"And so much for that," Nick muttered darkly. Judy ignored him, wrung out one ear, and strode up to the counter. A little brass bell was sitting on the tile. She tapped it. The ring was surprisingly bright and cheerful, in a place like this.

It had obviously been a hotel, once. Probably back before the real estate agency had figured out that investing in the Marches was like trying to bail out a sinking cruise liner with a sieve. There was still the little old-fashioned rack behind the desk that had probably held room keys once upon a time, and a few fluted pillars around the edge of the room hinted that someone had once tried to make this a nice place to live.

Time and lack of money had won out in the end. The carpet was moth-eaten and covered in mysterious stains. The countertop was scratched. Almost half of the overhead lights had burnt out and had never been replaced. The entire place stank of cigarettes and alcohol, and was silent except for the rain drumming on the door outside.

And, slowly approaching, a loud wheezing sound.

It went on for a surprisingly long time - long enough that Judy turned and raised an eyebrow at Nick, who simply shrugged and went back to trying to squeeze the rainwater out of his tail - before she rang the bell again. This time, she was met with a distant, high-pitched, out-of-breath "Yes, yes, I'm coming!" before a little door behind the counter creaked open.

The wheezy speaker turned out to be an ancient and slate-gray armadillo with a pair of coke-bottle glasses and a spindly little cane that wobbled almost as precariously as he did. It took him almost twenty seconds to cross the yard or so to the counter, whereupon he seated himself delicately on a stool and squinted across the countertop at Judy.

"Two beds," he said, in a voice that was sounded something like a tea kettle in an earthquake, "kitchenette, no television. Rent-"

"Oh, sorry," said Judy. "That's not what we're here for."

The armadillo squinted at her, and his rheumy eyes flickered towards Nick. "We don't do hourlies," he said coldly.

Nick choked. Judy just tapped her paw on the countertop and said, "Officers Hopps and Wilde, ZPD. We got a call about a lost child."

"Oh." The armadillo straightened up, expression lightening somewhat. "The Berenger boy. Right, yes. Sorry. My eyes aren't what they used to be." He coughed and scratched his throat. "Poor thing. It's lucky Mister Savage came by when he did. Apparently his parents have been out for days, and didn't leave him much in the way of food. Horrible. I'd never have guessed it of them, but the Mrs. Luckson had some eggs to spare, and I understand that Mister Emerly had some fish-"

"Sorry," Judy said sharply. She had pulled her little notebook out of a pocket and flipped it open. The familiar carrot pen was in her hand. Nick grinned to himself - she hadn't noticed yet that the notebook was completely soaked through. "You said 'Mister Savage'. That would be…?"

"Mister Jack Savage," said the armadillo. "He stops by from time to time. Private detective, you know. Can't say I'm a fan of his line of work - whenever he turns up, it means someone's hired him, which usually means it's unsavory business - but, in this case, he did some good. I believe he was the one who put in the call. He's with the boy now. Oh, yes - floor three, room eleven."

Judy shot a questioning look over her shoulder at Nick, who just shrugged.

"Thank you, Mister… ah…" Judy looked back to the armadillo.

"Amity," said Mister Amity. "Julius Amity."

"And no one else noticed that the boy was left alone before now?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not." Amity sniffed. "I don't go upstairs much myself - stairs give me too much trouble, I only send up the help when a call comes - and he was apparently a very quiet child. You'd have to ask him yourself, if you want anything more."

"So," said Judy, as they wound their way up the rickety staircase towards the third floor, "Savage again."

"Savage again," said Nick. "No clue _why_ , but Savage again."

"He was asking for access to police records?" Judy took the stairs two at a time, pausing at each landing to wait for Nick to catch up. "And he didn't say why?"

"Nope," said Nick, as he sauntered up behind her. "Benjy seemed to be expecting him to have court approval to access the records, but he didn't. And he was asking about somebody, too."

She took off again, and stopped on the next landing with her back to him, hands on her hips and staring at the wall. Nick was very proud of the way he was able to keep his eyes off of her tail. "He's turned up twice in the same day," she said. "And if this kid has been alone for that long… we may be looking at a missing mammals case."

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Nick darkly. "The kid's folks probably overdosed on something. It's that kind of neighborhood."

"Maybe," said Judy. Her ears were twitching back and forth above her head. Nick couldn't stop himself from half-grinning at the sight. "But _I_ smell a case."

"Really?" Nick stepped past her and pushed open the door. "Because _I_ smell fish. Room eleven, Officer Cottontail."

She just snorted and bounced past him into the hallway. A moment later, she was knocking on the gray door marked "11". "Hello?" she said, as she pushed it open. "Officer Hopps, ZPD. You called?"

The apartment turned out to be pretty much exactly what Nick had expected - which wasn't much of anything, really. Barely more than a shoebox, with decaying carpeting, rickety furniture, and a greasy little kitchenette connected to a tiny bedroom and a tinier bathroom. The second bed promised by Mister Amity turned out to be a pull-out couch, which had obviously been serving as a bed for so long that its original purpose had been all but forgotten.

There were only two other people in the apartment. A small, scraggly-looking leopard boy of about five or six, whom Nick assumed to be the Berenger kid, was seated at the tiny table in the kitchenette, wrapped in a blanket and staring owlishly at them as they entered. A few feet away, standing over the stove, was Jack Savage.

The rabbit had hung his long coat over the back of the pull-out, and left the jacket of his old-fashioned suit draped over a chair. That left him in a white button-up and suspenders over his pinstripe trousers, and left the strange tiger stripes in his white-gray fur on full display.

There was a shoulder holster visible under his left arm. Nick only glanced at it long enough to verify that, yeah, there was actually an old-fashioned revolver in it, packing heat was hardly unusual in a place like this - but he could sense Judy tensing beside him.

Savage only spared them a brief glance as they stepped inside. He looked as blank and stonefaced as ever. "Officers," he said flatly. "I'll be with you in a minute. Just finishing up some food for the kid." He waved the spatula in his right hand by way of demonstration, and his left shifted the skillet on the stovetop a few inches. "His name's Tom, by the way."

"Hello, Tom," said Judy. The brightness in her voice was a bit forced, but she did put on her warmest smile as she bounced across the room towards the leopard. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Judy. I'm here to make sure you're doing okay."

The boy didn't say anything. He simply shrank back into his chair and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly up at Judy. Her expression flickered a bit.

"Tom's not much of a talker," said Savage. He sounded almost disinterested. There was a hiss, and a surge of scent that made Nick's stomach rumble embarrassingly, as he flipped over something golden in the skillet. "Especially when it comes to cops. No offense." He pressed down on the omelette with the spatula. "His parents just aren't the type to trust the boys in blue."

Nick laid a hand on Judy's shoulder, just for a moment, as he stepped up behind her. The rabbit gave him a slightly nonplussed look, but he kept his eyes on Savage. "You know his parents?"

"I was hired to do some work on them a ways back," answered the rabbit, still in that same, barely-interested tone of voice. "And before you start asking questions, Sam and Tessa Berenger. She worked in the dime store down the street. He did odd jobs." He looked up from the stove to raise an eyebrow at Nick, who simply nodded. _Odd jobs._ Right.

"And no," Savage added, as he scooped the omelette out of the skillet and onto a plate, "I don't know where they are. Couldn't even begin to guess. Tom says it's been a couple days, but that's all I've got."

He set the plate down in front of Tom, who immediately tore his gaze away from Nick and Judy in order to start wolfing it down in great, hungry bites. Savage just leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and watched the two of them levelly. "Anything else you need to know?"

Judy lifted a hand to her pocket, remembered as she was doing so that the notebook was too soggy to write in, and lowered it again. "Actually, Mister Savage," she said, "we do have to ask what it is you're doing here."

Savage shrugged. "Looking for a mutual acquaintance."

"Who?"

"It's personal, Officer Hopps." Savage's expression remained carefully, perfectly blank. "An ex. And I'm not getting any more into it than that."

Judy cast a glance at Nick over her shoulder. When she looked back to Savage, she was frowning very slightly. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to."

"My personal life is mine, Officer Hopps," said Savage. "And it's going to stay that way. The Berengers have been gone for days. I'm here for entirely unrelated reasons. I called it in because I'm not going to leave the kid on his own, but I'm not going to stand here and be interrogated over something I've got nothing to do with."

One of his ears twitched as he stared, unblinking, at Judy. "We done here, or do you have any other questions?"

"Yes, actually," said Nick, before Judy could open her mouth again. He pointed towards the plate in front of Tom, who stopped eating and stared at the finger as if afraid it might go off. "Where'd a rabbit learn to cook eggs?"

Savage raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on," said Nick, slipping another crooked smile onto his face. "That's _barely_ personal. I'm just curious."

Even Judy was staring at him now. He winked at her.

Savage sighed. "I cook," he said flatly. "And I used to be close to a dame who appreciated it. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually," said Nick again. He kept the smile fixed, despite Judy's expression at the other rabbit's use of the word "dame". He was taking shots in the dark, he knew, but Savage's ear was still twitching. The rabbit was wound tight. He practically hear the clockwork pinging under stress. "This dame - what was her name?"

Savage's eyes narrowed, and his gaze flickered over to Judy for a moment before he said, "I don't see how that's relevant."

"Well, neither do I, yet," said Nick airily. He lifted his radio up from his belt and let the receiver dangle by its cord, held between two fingers. "But, like you said earlier, I've got a different kind of rep now than I used to. _Used_ to be a con man. Now I'm a cop. And that means I've got to ask awkward questions." He whistled between his teeth for a moment, letting the radio swing. Watching Savage's ear twitch.

"Right now," he continued slowly, still in that same airy, casual tone, "I'm wondering what good old Ben Clawhauser would say if I were to call him up and ask if he knew about any of your old ex-dames. Ones named 'Reynard', for example. I'm pretty sure he'd know. Loves to gossip, our Ben. And you two seemed pretty chummy back at the station. And _then_ -" one of Savage's feet started tapping on the tiling of the kitchenette "-I'm wondering what he would say if I were to ask him to rattle off some names from that list of records you asked him about earlier. I'm _particularly_ wondering if the name 'Berenger' would turn up on there."

He flicked his wrist, swung the radio up and around, and caught it in one paw, grinning hugely. "What d'you think, Carrots?" he asked, without looking away from Savage. "What'd you put the odds at?"

Judy matched his grin, folded her arms across her chest, and bumped her hip against his. "Well, this probably counts as cheating, but judging by the look on your face, Mister Savage-" the other rabbit's jaw clenched "-I'd call those pretty good odds, myself."

Savage wasn't blank any more. He glared openly at Judy, breathing slowly and evenly, for almost ten seconds. Then he inhaled sharply and pushed away from the counter. "Finish up, kid," he said to Tom, as he limped around to the chair that he had left his suit jacket hanging on. "Looks like you and me are both goin' for a ride."

Five minutes later, as Nick watched Savage limp slowly down the stairs, Tom Berenger just ahead, Judy hip-checked him again on one of the landings. "Pretty slick back there," she whispered. "I knew you'd come in handy some day."

A lot of thoughts flashed through his head in response - it was easy, it was luck, he'd heard enough to connect the dots back at the station, Savage basically had a flashing sign over his head saying "ASK ME ABOUT REYNARD" - but the little smile she gave him before setting off down the stairs again made his stomach do backflips, and every one of them went unsaid.


	5. FIVE

**FIVE**

* * *

 _The bear, the leopard, and the lynx were quite worried when they heard that Dame Reynard was in the king's council, for they were very afraid that with her cleverness of speech and her craftiness she might cause them to incur the king's anger, and all the more so since Dame Reynard had been more in favor of the king's election than any other animal._

 _...It was the king's wish that Dame Reynard and her companions be members of his court and his council, and thus it was done, but the leopard spoke secretly to the king as follows:_

" _My lord, there was once a count at war with a king; and since the count was not as powerful as the king, he had to exercise craft in his war with the king. What he did was to give large gifts in secret to the king's secretary, so that the latter would tell him of all the stratagems the king was going to employ against him. And thus the king's secretary prevented the royal power from bringing this war with the count to a successful conclusion."_

 _After the leopard had finished speaking, and the lion had understood the example, he said that the rooster should belong to his court and Dame Reynard not, so that she would not tell the elephant and the other beasts who ate grass about the stratagems of the king and his companions who ate meat._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Tom Berenger kept his head down and his knees up against his chest in the back of the police cruiser. Jack felt a twinge of sympathy for the kid; his folks weren't the types to trust cops. He'd probably spent most of his life hearing about how much trouble they gave his dad. Now both his parents were gone, and he knew enough to guess that they weren't coming back. The Marches had a track record with families like that.

There wasn't much room in his head for more than that, though. Brief flickers of sympathy were choked out by the dull, ruddy haze of anger. It tasted like Ambassadors.

He tugged the brim of his hat down over his eyes, settled back into the cushions behind him, and breathed in and out, slowly, through his nose. The fingers on his left hand were white-knuckling his bad knee, sending little twinges of not-quite-pain up his spine.

He could hear Officer Wilde's voice, slightly muffled through the glass separating the two halves of the cruiser and nearly crushed under the sound of the rain. Calling in. Kid found. Missing mammals case. Person of interest.

For a moment, his grip on his knee redoubled, until his knuckles were popping and he could feel some actual pain spiking through his nerves. Then, slowly, he forced himself to relax, shook his head, and opened his eyes.

Precinct One. Heart of downtown Zootopia. Second time he'd been there in less than twelve hours. It was almost like the old days.

The lights were still too bright and cold and quiet. They were bright, white things, no life or warmth to them at all. And everything was put together in clean lines and soft curves, like plastic toys. Even the police station looked more like a theater than anything functional, with its huge, oversized facade and multi-story windows.

Jack frowned up at it as he stepped out of the cruiser and turned up his collar against the rain. Officer Wilde was standing just to his side, wearing an oversized, ineffective blue poncho and clutching an umbrella. Officer Hopps had taken control of the silent Tom, and was pushing him towards the shelter of the station doorways as quickly as she could while fighting the pull of the wind on her own umbrella.

"What's with the look?"

Jack blinked, scowled, and turned his gaze back towards Wilde, who was regarding him with one eyebrow raised.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," said the fox levelly. "Every time you look at her, you go all sour." He paused. "Well. More sour than usual. Which is weird, because, y'know, she's usually the one that gets on with people. I go out of my way to be aggravating."

"You're very good at it," snapped Jack. He pushed away from the cruiser and stamped off towards the precinct doors, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets as he went.

When the doors closed behind him, he stopped for a moment, wondering why the sound of rain hadn't receded with them. Then he realized that it had. The sound that filled his world was the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears.

How long had it been since he last slept? Not last night. Ariadne's visit had kept him up. What was he running on, exactly? Anger, mostly. Frustration. Spite. He had taken all of them and clamped the spring down tight, made it work for him. Used it to keep his engine running while it wound and wound until he could feel his ribs creaking with the restrained force of it.

It was shaking him to pieces from the inside, now. Officer Judith Hopps being the one to drag him back only made it worse. Even if she was currently more preoccupied with trying to wipe some of the rain off of Tom than with questioning him, it rankled.

If it weren't for the fact that some part of him kept whispering about leverage, about Tom Berenger's missing parents and an in with the police, a way to get his hands on the records, he would have lost his grip on it entirely.

He removed his hat and shook his head rapidly for a moment as his ears came up. "Right," he said, glancing back at Wilde. "You wanna talk about Reynard and Berenger? Let's-"

There was a soft noise. Someone was clearing their throat. Jack blinked, and looked back towards the front desk. Clawhauser wiggled his pudgy fingers apologetically.

"Actually, Jack," said the cheetah, "there's somebody waiting for you."

Jack stared. "Who?"

"Me."

The voice was an earthquake, and was accompanied by heavy, thunderous footfalls as Chief Bogo stomped through the door of his office. He had to stoop to fit under the lintel.

Jack continued to stare. Behind him, he heard Wilde mutter something like "oh, boy" as the Chief drew himself up to his full, towering height and glowered down at them from the second-floor walkway. He didn't even have to raise his voice to be heard from that distance.

"Clawhauser," said Bogo, without taking his eyes off of Jack, "take the young Mister Berenger to the break room. Fangmeyer will take him off your hands. Hopps. Wilde. Mister Savage." He tossed his head, turned, and pulled open his office door again. "This way."

"Sir?" said Hopps, as she headed towards the stairs. "I don't understand."

"Inside, Hopps." Bogo's eternally impassive gaze shifted towards Jack, who felt himself winding tighter still. "Our Mister Savage has a visitor."

"Well, now," he said, as he set his good leg on the first step, "ain't that something. You know, normally, when I somebody that wants to visit me, they come to my place instead of the precinct."

He smelled the Ambassadors the moment the words left his mouth, and ground to a halt at the halfway point of the staircase.

"And normally, if someone wants to visit _me_ ," said a low, throaty voice, "they make an appointment beforehand."

Ariadne Reynard leaned against the door frame and smiled a curved little smile down at him.

"Hello, Jack."

Nick could _see_ the gears clashing in Savage's head. The rabbit had basically stopped functioning mid-stride, with his bad leg swung out wide to try and bring it up onto the next step and both eyes fixed on the fox in the doorway.

Not that the staring was all that confusing, really. Even he couldn't help letting out a low whistle between his teeth at the sight of her, which he desperately hoped Judy didn't hear. Tall, elegant, softly curved in all the right places, wearing a suit of deep, sunset purple that was probably classified as a weapon in most countries. It wasn't that it was showy, because it was actually perfectly professional. It was more the way she stood, and held that long cigarette between two fingers, and raised one eyebrow just slightly as she looked down at them.

His brain was already supplying the slow sax music.

But Savage's stare, his stance, was not the look of a man hypnotized. He wasn't fascinated. He was confused, startled, and - and _angry_. Furious. The hand he was gripping the railing with was actually shaking.

"Ariadne," he said. He ground the name out like it had done him a personal wrong.

The vixen tilted her head to one side and flicked an ear lazily, still regarding him with that same, slight smile. It was a good smile. Professional, polite, but it put Nick in mind of a schoolteacher. It did not merely say _I am perfectly in control here_. It said _And that is the way it should be, because you are very, very small._

"'Ariadne' now, is it?" she said, sounding vaguely amused. "No more 'Rey', then. Still angry. And here I thought that you were the one that wanted to see me." She lifted the cigarette to her lips and took a long, slow drag on it, never breaking eye contact with Savage. "That's certainly the impression you've gone out of your way to give Effie, at least."

" _In_ the _office_ , Miss Reynard," said Bogo flatly, without looking around. "Or would you rather your personal life be broadcast for the entire precinct?"

Reynard laughed, a beautifully musical little sound from low in her throat, and shook her head. "I don't particularly mind how many people know what Jack gets up to in his free time, Chief Bogo," she said airily. "But your point is well taken regardless." She inclined her head slightly, pushed away from the door frame, and slipped back into the office, out of sight. The tip of her tail and a strand of errant smoke were the last things to vanish.

Bogo looked back to them. "You three," he snapped. His free hand came up to jab a finger towards the doorway. " _In._ "

Judy shot a puzzled look over her shoulder, eyeing both Savage and Nick in turn. Nick shrugged.

" _Now_ , Hopps," barked Bogo. Judy jumped slightly, turned, and bounded up the rest of the stairs to vanish into the Chief's office.

Nick took a step forward. Savage still hadn't moved. The hand on the railing was still shaking. And, as Nick stepped up to his side and the rabbit's face came into view, he saw why.

It wasn't just anger. It was fear.

Jack Savage's stone wall had come down. What was left in its place was raw terror.

The rabbit's eyes were wide, and flickered rapidly between Bogo and the open doorway, with only the most fleeting of glances at Nick. His breathing came fast, his ears stood straight up, quivering above his head, and his nose twitched rapidly. Nick had to suppress the urge to set a paw on his shoulder, to try and steady him.

He settled for muttering, very quietly, "Hey."

Savage's eyes snapped to his. For a moment, for the briefest possible moment, Nick felt something like the beginnings of understanding pass between them.

"I don't know," Savage muttered.

Nick blinked. "What?"

"I don't know why she's here," said the rabbit, still in that same quiet voice, and still without moving his eyes away. "I didn't expect _her_ to find _me_. I don't know what happens next."

He recognized the look on Savage's face. Every con man knew it - and Savage _was_ a con man, or something close to it. He played the game well enough to know the rules. Well enough to know that this was the one look you never, ever wanted to have turn up on your face.

You never, _ever_ showed fear when you worked. Every hustler ever born, even the ones who didn't last a week, knew. You were riding a unicycle along the edge of a cliff while juggling knives. The only thing that kept any of it going was the audience's belief that you knew what you were doing - was _your_ belief that you knew that you were doing.

The moment fear showed up on your face, the audience lost confidence in you.

The moment fear showed up on your face, it meant that _you_ had lost confidence in you.

Whatever game Jack Savage had been playing, it was over now. And he was scared, scared the way Nick had been scared when he and Judy had been dragged in front of Mister Big. Scared enough to show this much, to throw out a bit of precious honesty at another con man in sheer desperation. Hoping for a miracle.

Nick wondered what kind of woman Ariadne Reynard had to be to get that much just by turning up.

" _Wilde._ "

Bogo's voice snapped them both out of the stare. It had only been a moment, less than a handful of seconds, Nick knew. Not enough for the Chief to get anything more than slightly annoyed at the pause, and that was even factoring in that "slightly annoyed" was Bogo's baseline state of existence.

Savage was the first to move. He turned to face forward again. Nick could see the wall rebuilding itself as he moved. By the time he had limped his way to the top of the stairs, Jack Savage was back to his usual self, somewhere between blankness and generalized annoyance at the world in general. The two of them moved past Bogo almost in unison.

The Chief's office wasn't exactly spacious at the best of times, but even so, Nick was struck with a pronounced sense of claustrophobia when Bogo shut the door behind them and moved around to seat himself behind the desk. Aside from the buffalo, who seemed to fill up about three times more space than his mere physical dimensions would suggest, there was himself, the two rabbits, Reynard, and a massive, towering elephant standing against the far wall, dressed in a suit so black it looked like spilled ink and sporting two fistfuls of huge, ostentatious gold rings.

Reynard stood at his side, cigarette at her lips, still wearing that curved little smile as she watched them. One of the elephant's massive arms was looped around behind her, and his fingers were settled, in an unmistakably possessive manner, on her shoulder.

"Have a seat, Mister Savage," said Bogo curtly. He waved one hand towards the chairs in front of his desk.

"I prefer to stand, thanks." Savage's ear twitched, and he shoved both hands back into the pockets of his coat.

Reynard chuckled and shook her head slowly, eyes drifting down towards the rabbit's bad leg. Savage merely scowled and continued, "So what's this about? I thought I was getting dragged in for some unnecessary questioning about a missing mammals case I've got nothin' to do with, not for some sort of… reunion."

A few feet away, Nick could see Judy trying very hard to keep her head from snapping back and forth between the chief, the detective, and the vixen.

"I understand that Officers Hopps and Wilde brought you in of their own initiative," said Bogo calmly. "I do not know or care, right now, whether or not they were right to do so. On the other hand-" he shifted slightly to glance sidelong at Reynard, who nodded "-I am led to understand that, over the past twelve hours or so, you have been an extremely _persistent_ rabbit."

One of Savage's ears twitched again. "Afraid I don't follow you, Chief."

"Oh, come now, Jack." Reynard's voice was almost a sigh, but still didn't lose that undertone of amusement. "Don't play dumb. It's just wasting time. Effie called me this morning. And I made a few more calls myself, and finally-" she exhaled a long, lazy billow of smoke up towards the ceiling "-Chief Bogo called me." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice lost a few degrees of that low, throaty warmth as she added, "Subtlety was never your strong point."

"Yeah?" Nick flinched inwardly at the sound of the raw, bleeding edge in Savage's voice. He could see Judy tensing as well. "Well, apparently, neither was connecting the obvious dots, so I'm afraid that if you've got somethin' to say to me, _Rey_ , you're just gonna have to come out and say it." He snorted. "For once in your life."

Reynard's eyebrow ticked upwards another few notches, and her wicked little smile faded a bit, but it was the elephant who spoke. His voice was thick, tar-like. It oozed from his throat, heavy with accent.

"She is saying," he rumbled, "that she is not your woman any more, little rabbit. And you would do well to accept that."

Savage's lips curled back in a sneer as he lifted his head to look up at the elephant. "Yeah?" he snapped. "Well, she isn't yours, either, buddy, so I'd thank you to let the lady do her own talking."

The elephant laughed. "Is she not?" His massive fingers squeezed Reynard's shoulder, and the vixen's smile returned a bit as she looked up at him.

Savage's head snapped around to glare at Reynard again. "A lion and an elephant in less than a week, huh?" he snapped. Again, Nick flinched. Too raw. Reynard and the elephant were sparring. Savage was flailing, lashing out. Leaving himself vulnerable.

Reynard merely shrugged, the calm, icy edge still in her voice. "I have always been fond of larger men, Jack. And it is no longer your concern who I choose to spend my time with, or why." She looked over to Chief Bogo, but her voice was still aimed towards the rabbit. "And I will not have you harassing my clients. Or my secretary."

"Yes, _thank_ you, Miss Reynard," Bogo growled. Nick could see in his hunched stance that he was only a few sentences away from having a vein visibly pulsing in his forehead. "If the two of you have finished your little domestic _spat_ , perhaps we can get down to business."

There was silence for a moment as Savage simply stared at Reynard. Then, slowly, he tore his gaze away and looked over to Bogo, scowling heavily. Silent. Nick took the opportunity to step around him to stand beside Judy, right between Savage and the two visitors.

Bogo watched them all with an unamused expression. "Mister Savage," he said slowly, "earlier this morning, you contacted Officer Clawhauser with the intention that he convince me to grant you access to the police records of a number of individuals." He reached into the pocket of his uniform, withdrew a small notebook, and set it carefully down on the desk in front of him. "Unlike your previous workings with this precinct," he continued, "you admittedly lack court approval to access these records."

The buffalo reached into another pocket and withdrew a pair of small reading glasses, which he perched on his muzzle as he flipped the notebook open and looked down at the pages. "Now, given your history with us, I would not normally be against granting you access. _But_."

The notebook snapped shut. The glasses came off. Bogo's glare reduced Nick's spine to rubber just by proximity.

"You have apparently gone out of your way to try and contact many of these individuals personally," the chief growled. "All with the explicit intent to find information about the location of your ex-girlfriend." He curled one massive hand into a fist. "The Zootopia P.D. does not exist to enable _stalkers_ , Mister Savage. Nor do we condone your hunting Miss Reynard's former clients to try to shake them down for information on her whereabouts."

Savage's ears were flat down his back, now. One of his hands had come out of his pocket, and was balled into a fist.

"You may not have had anything to do with the Berenger's disappearances," said Bogo, settling back in his chair, "but your attempt to use them as a means of reaching Miss Reynard, when she has asked you to stay away, is still unacceptable." He tilted his head towards the fox, who nodded. "Miss Reynard has asked us not to go so far as to place a formal restraining order in place. Yet. But you are to stay away from her, and her clients, for the foreseeable future." He narrowed his eyes. "Am I clear?"

Savage's hand was clenched so tight that Nick was sure that even his tiny little rabbit claws should have broken skin by now. After a moment of utter silence, save for the sound of the rain drumming on the window behind the elephant, he muttered, "She came to me."

Bogo raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"She," said Savage again, voice rising, indignant, "came to _me_." He spun on the spot, hand upraised, and pointed accusingly at Reynard. "You came to my apartment last night." He spat the words like knives. " _You_ came to _my_ apartment and tried to bribe me to leave."

Reynard's smile was gone now. There was only a frown, an arch, icy, imperial frown that had her staring down her muzzle at the rabbit. "No," she said sharply. "I did not."

Savage's hand wavered. "What?"

"I did not," Reynard said again, very slowly and clearly. The cigarette dangling between her fingers wove a lazy figure-eight through the air as she lifted it to her lips again, glaring. When she exhaled again, she continued, "Lying really doesn't suit you, Jack. Or maybe you should lay off the bottle. You were always much more tolerable when you were off the hard stuff."

Savage's other hand came out now, slammed down onto Bogo's desk so hard that a few fingers must have shattered. Nick felt Judy tense alongside him, in unison, both of their hands moving to the tasers in their belts. Bogo pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

" _You were afraid!_ " Savage screamed. He didn't even seem to register the movement around him. "You said it had gone wrong and you _begged_ me to leave!"

The elephant inhaled slowly, through his trunk. "I am afraid you are mistaken," he said slowly. "Ariadne was with me all of the previous night."

"Shut up," snarled the rabbit, without looking away from Reynard. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, choked. "I was looking for you," he growled, "because I thought you needed my _help_. But this was just another one of your sick games, wasn't it? Just you jerking the stupid rabbit's chain again."

"I haven't touched your chain, Jack," said Reynard. Her words could have cut glass. "I have no interest in it any more. Or in you." She tapped on the end of her cigarette, sending a small cascade of ash onto the floor. "Just like you don't have any interest in me any more, really."

"You know, you're right about that." Savage lifted his hand from the desk and took a step forward, still pointing at Reynard's chest. Judy stepped closer, drawing up alongside him, one hand outstretched to intercept. He ignored her. "You're right about that," he hissed. "You're _poison_ , Rey. You're evil, oozing poison, and if I've got any interest in you left, it's pretty far down there right now. But I'll tell you what I _do_ wanna know." He grit his teeth. "I wanna know what you thought was worth it."

Even as he stepped up behind the rabbit, expression set and hand on his belt, Nick found himself wincing in sympathy internally. Savage was making the physical advance, but he wasn't the one attacking. Not really. He was being baited.

 _Never let them see that they get to you. If they do, they've got a weapon._

The elephant tugged Reynard in against his side as Savage stepped up, but she shrugged out of his enormous grasp and took a step forward, drawing close enough that Savage was forced to lower his hand. Close enough that she was staring down into his eyes as she peeled her lip back and fixed him with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"What was worth it?" she said quietly. "You want to know what I thought was _worth_ it? Really?" She shook her head. "Exactly backwards, Jack. It's not about what was worth you. It's about what you were worth." Her eyes roamed slowly up and down his body. Only when they came back to his eyes did she say, in a voice dripping with utter loathing, "As it turns out, the answer is 'not very much at all'."

For a few long, long seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the rain on the windows.

Nick couldn't bring himself to look at Savage's face.

Then, very slowly, bubbling up from within his expansive chest, the elephant began to laugh. It welled up from inside him and echoed off the walls of the tiny office as he stepped forward to set a hand on Reynard's shoulder once again.

"Ah," he said, as it finally died. "She has quite the tongue. A shame that it had to get so uncouth, yes? But it is sometimes necessary, with men like this." He grinned broadly down at the frozen rabbit. "Perhaps you have learned a lesson, yes? Do not try to tame one who is beyond you. Stay away from Dame Reynard, Mister Savage. She was never truly yours."

Nick's taser was up and moving before he any sort of conscious thought of it had processed, but Judy was faster, ducking low and putting all the power of her impressively strong legs into a tackle that caught Savage under the shoulder and carried them both, sprawling, into the desk. Savage snarled like a predator, teeth bared, eyes fixed on the grinning elephant, fighting against Judy's grip. But his right arm was still pinned. Whether or not he had intended to draw, or just throw a punch, it was over.

"Mister Savage!" shouted Judy. "Get a _grip!_ "

"Yes," said Reynard, voice still dripping disgust. "Please do. This is simply embarrassing, even for you."

Again, Savage froze. Slowly, very slowly, he relaxed against the desk. Every muscle in his body went limp, one at a time. Only at the end did he look down to Reynard.

"Get out," he rasped.

"Gladly." The vixen tossed her head and lifted her gaze to Bogo, who was standing with both hands flat on the desktop, staring down at Judy. "Chief, I'm still not asking for a formal restraining order." Her tail flicked through the air behind her. "Consider it the one nod you're going to get to whatever it was we had, Jack," she added, without looking down. "But if you come near me, or my clients, again, I will not be so considerate."

"Nor will I," rumbled Bogo. "Out of consideration for your previous assistance to this department, and because-" his eyes flickered up towards the elephant "-you were provoked, I am willing to overlook this outburst. _This_. Outburst." He lowered himself slowly into the chair again. "There will not be a second time, Mister Savage. If there is, it will be the last. Bring him up, Officer Hopps."

"Yes, sir." Judy's voice was quiet, slightly unsteady, but she clambered to her feet, pulling Savage up behind her. He turned, very slowly, away from Reynard. Towards Bogo.

"Are we _clear_ , Mister Savage?" Bogo punctuated each word with a tap on the desk.

"As crystal," said Savage hoarsely. "Chief."

Then, very slowly, and limping as though his leg were actually broken, he turned and strode out of the office.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him again was very, very quiet, and, in Nick's mind, very, very final.


	6. SIX

**SIX**

* * *

 _OF THE TREASON DAME REYNARD ATTEMPTED AGAINST THE KING._

 _Dame Reynard and her companions were most displeased at not being on the king's council; and from that moment on Dame Reynard began to harbor treason in her heart, and to desire the death of the king. She therefore said to the elephant:_

 _"_ _From now on there will be great enmity between the animals who eat meat and those who eat grass; for the king and his councilors eat meat, and you have no animal of your kind on his council to uphold your rights."_

 _...The elephant was very worried by what Dame Reynard had told him, and for a long time he considered the harm that could come to him and his companions from the choice they had made of king and councilors. While the elephant was thinking over these matters, Dame Reynard told him he should have no fear of the king and his friends, for if he wanted to be king she would see to it that he would be king…_

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

No matter how long Nick stared at the report form in front of him, it remained stubbornly, depressingly blank.

Names: Sam and Tessa Berenger. Case categorization: missing mammals. Time since incident: at least three days for Sam, according to the kid. More than a week for Tessa; both Tom and her employer at the shop agreed on that. Leads: none. Additional notes: none.

And that was it. That was all. Tom Berenger would go to a foster home, and the Berenger file would be added to the long, long list of cold cases in the back of the department storage room. Just two more names of little people who had gone into the Marches and never come out again. Nothing unusual.

Which only made it worse, really.

He didn't regret becoming a cop. Never had, not even for a moment. Which surprised him, really. He'd expected to, but he didn't.

But there were some days when it wasn't a very pleasant job.

He sighed heavily, rubbed at his face with both paws, and leaned back in his chair. Across the desk, Judy lifted her head to peer at him.

"Tired?"

"I long for death," Nick croaked.

The rabbit just grinned. "There _is_ coffee in the break room, you know."

"Ech." He made a face. " _Instant_ coffee? Carrots, please. I've got standards. Besides-" he stretched slowly and looked up at the clock "-it's about time to knock off for the night."

Judy glanced up as well. "Mmhm. So what are your plans for the night? Are you just gonna go home and pass out like a sad sack?"

Something must have shown on his face, because a moment later, she was looking at him curiously with one ear cocked attentively. "Something on your mind, Slick?"

Nick frowned slightly. Opened his mouth. Shut it again.

 _"_ _Oh, is this it?"_ muttered Grizzoli's voice behind him. _"Thank god. I put way too much money on this week."_

Judy shut her eyes, but couldn't stop herself from laughing. Nick didn't move.

"Actually," he said slowly, "yeah. There is something."

He took a deep breath. Grizzoli was whispering something else, but he wasn't listening. "I think I'm gonna go see Savage."

Judy's eyes opened again, and she tilted her head to one side, looking still more puzzled. Grizzoli groaned.

After a second, Judy said, "You want me to come along?"

Another pause. Nick sucked on a tooth, thinking. "Nnnno," he said slowly. "I mean, yes. I want you to come along. But I don't think he'd be happy about it." Pause again. "I don't think he likes you very much."

She blinked. "What?"

Nick shrugged. "Search me as to _why_ ," he said, a bit apologetically. "But he walked out real fast when you turned up this morning, and he kept glaring at you whenever he thought no one was looking when we picked him up earlier. Plus, you were the one who tackled him."

"Only because you're slow on the uptake," said Judy. A wry smile played across her lips. "I would've thought you'd see that punch coming a mile away."

"I did." Nick's expression, in contrast to hers, was grave and somber. "You're just faster than I am."

"I am." Judy's smile faded a bit as she watched him. " _Why_ do you want to see him, Nick? I mean, cheese and crackers, the guy was crazy enough to try and take a swing at an _elephant_. _In front of Bogo._ " She shook her head. "And you know he doesn't actually know anything about the Berengers, right? He was just lying to try and get at the records."

Nick was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, pushed his chair back from the desk, and stood up. "Yeah, I know." He picked up his umbrella, frowning to himself, and offered her his free hand. "This is personal stuff."

"Personal?" Judy took his paw and hopped to her feet. "Looking to hire a private detective? You know, you could just _ask_ about whatever you want to know about me."

That got a grin, but only a brief one. "I already know more about you than any fox would ever want to," he said teasingly. Then his expression sobered again, and he added, in a quieter voice, "Outside, Carrots." One of his ears flicked towards the rest of the desks. Grizzoli looked hurriedly down again.

The rain had slowed since the afternoon downpour, but there was still a light, misty drizzle coming down as the two of them stepped out of the precinct doors. The pavement shone like starlight under the gleaming city overhead.

"All right," said Judy, as they walked side-by-side towards the parking lot. "So you know he's crazy, and you aren't going to question him about the Berengers. So why _do_ you want to see him?"

She stopped and turned, looking back at Nick. The fox had come to a stop some three paces behind her, eyes lifted towards the underside of his umbrella, chewing on the inside of his lower lip.

"Nick?"

A full three second passed before Nick said, "Because she was baiting him."

Judy sighed. "Yeah," she agreed. Her free hand settled on her hip as she looked up at him. "She was. And I feel sorry for him, too, but he still doesn't seem like the kind of guy I want to go visiting in my free time. Especially with the kind of mood he stormed out in."

Nick still didn't look down.

After a moment, she sighed, stepped in close to him, and reached out to take his paw in hers. "Nick," she said softly. "Talk to me. What's bothering you?"

Nick sighed and shut his eyes. "Carrots. You remember when we first met?"

Judy blinked. "Of course I do."

"You remember when you made that speech?"

She grimaced. "Ooooof course I do."

Nick's eyes opened again. When he finally made eye contact, his expression was as serious as she had ever seen it. "You were gone for a long time," he said quietly. "You didn't see… me. What I acted like, before you came back."

He sighed. "Judy, people don't just get mad for no reason. Not like he did. The only people that can get you that mad, the only people who can hurt you deep enough to get that sort of response out of you, are the ones you really care about. The ones you let see that they get to you. The ones you _trust_ , Carrots. And she did it _deliberately._ " He wrapped his paw around hers and squeezed gently. "I'm gonna go see Savage because he looks like I did back then, and there's nobody in the world who deserves to feel like that alone."

The rain and the shadows made it hard to read Judy's expression, but he thought he detected the hint of a smile. The kind of tiny, prideful little smile she had worn when she had first welcomed him to the ZPD. The kind that made his heart skip a beat.

"You know," she said, "I want to say something really witty and catchy right now, but I honestly can't think of anything. So you're gonna have to settle for this." She withdrew her paw from his, balled it into a fist, and punched him lightly on the arm. "Go get 'em, champ."

Nick snorted, but found a grin working its way across his muzzle anyway. "Thanks, Carrots."

"No problem." She took a few steps backwards, transitioning it into a spin on one heel, and waved at him over her shoulder. "Oh, and by the way," she called, "Clawhauser's got a lot of money on this weekend."

"Still can't find a good restaurant," he shouted after her.

"Try harder." And then she was gone, just another shape in the mist.

Finding Savage's apartment wasn't hard. He'd gotten the address from Clawhauser, after assuring the cheetah that he wasn't intending to make any arrests. Turned out that it was one of the less horrifically roach-infested places available in the Marches, one of those pokey old shops where the owners slept on the second floor. Savage had simply covered up the windows and had the words "JACK SAVAGE - PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR" stenciled on the door.

The Marches were surprisingly lively as Nick drew up outside the little office. The gutters were still overflowing, and every drainpipe in the district was groaning under the weight of the earlier downpour, but under the harsh, humming light of the sodium lamps and the flickering, crackling neon, the streets were packed with mammals. Walking, talking, shouting, running - and playing music, low, slow music that went right to the hindbrain and made you want to dance and cry at the same time.

There was even some drifting from the second floor of Savage's place. A recording, probably. It was muffled by the windows and the rain and the sound of the street around him, but it was there. Hard to identify the instrument; something brassy, alternating short, staccato notes and long, low wails.

It stopped when he pressed the buzzer.

Savage didn't answer it immediately. Nick spent something close to a full two minutes standing outside, huddled into what little shelter the doorway offered, clutching his useless umbrella and watching the crowds go past. Just as he was lifting his hand to ring again, he heard the sound of movement inside.

Footsteps on stairs, but accompanied by something else. They were herky-jerky, off-kilter steps, and every other one was followed by a hollow, wooden _thunk_. Slow, but getting closer. He waited.

The look Savage gave him when he finally pulled open the door was as blank and stony as ever.

The rabbit had removed his coat and hat and suit jacket, leaving him in just the undershirt, suspenders, and pinstripe trousers again. No shoulder holster, this time, but he had acquired something else: a cane, clutched tightly in his left hand and held in close to his leg.

"Officer," he said flatly.

Nick blinked, then shook himself, straightened up, and smiled crookedly. "Ah, actually," he said, "not an officer right now. I'm off duty." He tapped the place where his badge, quite conspicuously, wasn't. Even in the dim, scattered light of the Marches, it was impossible to mistake that garish green print for police blue. "It's just Wilde now. Or Nick, if you like."

Savage didn't even blink.

After a while, Nick cleared his throat, gave his umbrella a little shake - a shiver went up his spine as some of the rainwater fell into his tail - and asked, "Mind if I come in?"

"What do you _want_ , Officer?" Savage's voice was blunt, barely masking the undercurrent of anger underneath.

Nick sighed. "Look," he said softly. "I'm just here to talk. Really. That's all."

Savage's eyes flicked left, then right, examining the streets behind Nick. He raised an eyebrow. "Where's your partner?"

"At home," said Nick, "and probably having more fun than I am. It's soaking out here."

"You came to question me without her?" Savage snorted derisively. "And here I thought she had you on a leash."

"Only on special occasions," said Nick, without missing a beat. He refused to let his friendly little smile drop. "Seriously, though. It's just me. I'm off duty, and I'm not here to question you. I'm just here to talk."

The rabbit eyed him for a long while. Then, very slowly, he stepped back and pulled the door open the rest of the way.

"Oh, good." Nick stepped inside, shaking out his tail as he went. "I thought I was gonna drown out there. Nice place, by the way."

It was a bit of a lie, but not much. It was a nice place, if you held it to the standards of the rest of the Marches - that is, it wasn't falling down, the dust was less than an inch thick, the lights actually worked, and there probably weren't too many roaches around the place. There wasn't much to it, though. Just a big, old desk and a few battered chairs. And a lot of filing cabinets. It was somewhere to work, and not much else.

There was an empty glass ashtray on the desktop.

Savage shut the door behind him with a click.

"All right," he said, still in that same, flat monotone. "You're in. You wanna talk? Talk."

Nick shut his umbrella, turned, and looked down. Savage seemed much smaller, right now, than he had earlier. Even the loss of the bulky overcoat didn't quite cover it. It was the way he stood, the way he put most of his weight on the cane and stood at an angle, curving over it, with his ears down against the back of his head as he scowled.

"What, here?" he said, flipping his umbrella up over his shoulder. "Not all that comfortable, is it? Why don't we go upstairs, have a seat? You look like you could do with taking a load off."

Another long, hollow stare from the rabbit. Then he turned and started up the stairs again. It was odd, watching him move with the cane. Like a spider with a broken leg. Slow, ponderous, not entirely sure of how its limbs worked.

He followed.

The apartment level was another slight surprise. It actually looked nice. Liveable, even. Better than Judy's shoebox from hell, at least. It wasn't anything particularly fancy, but it had a distinctly lived-in quality which said that this was more because its occupant simply didn't care to do much interior design work than because there were no resources available to do it with. The furniture was old, but well-worn. A handful of bookshelves were overflowing with hardbacks. The kitchenette visible through a door in the far wall was clean and well-kept. Even the harsh, orange light seemed more comfortable here.

There was a smooth black case lying on the coffee table. Nick eyed it curiously for a moment as Savage limped across the sitting room and lowered himself heavily into an armchair, his bad leg sticking out in front of him..

The stare bored into Nick's forehead like a drill.

He coughed and ran a paw over the back of his head. "So, ah," he said, "Jack. What's with the cane? Carrots didn't hurt'cha, did she? She's careful about that."

Savage glanced down to the cane. Tapped the end of it, once, on the wooden floor. "No," he said. "She didn't. I've just been walkin' on it too much."

Nick breathed a sigh of relief and let his paw drop. An actual response. Curt, blunt, and rather cold, but a response nonetheless. "Yeah, the Chief said you'd been busy. I'd take the train next time. Save yourself some legwork. What happened to it, anyway?"

One of Savage's eyebrows was rising again. He watched with an expression of mingled confusion and annoyance as Nick sidled around to sit down on the empty couch.

The cushions sighed. Nick sniffed. Suddenly, the air smelled of cigarettes.

"It was stepped on," said Savage. "By a rhinoceros."

Nick flinched. Outwardly, this time, and for real. It was accompanied by a sound like "whoof", which escaped his throat without any conscious decision on his part to make it. "Oh, boy. How'd _that_ happen?"

"Sparring." Savage's cane thunked against the floorboards again. Outside, a hyena laughed.

"You were sparring with a rhinoceros?" Nick wrinkled his nose, eyeing the rabbit curiously. "Why?"

"Because basic self-defense courses are mandatory," said Savage, very slowly and carefully, "at the police academy."

A heavy silence settled over them. In the dim, orange light, Nick's eyes went wide.

" _Oh._ "

"Yes," said Savage. "Oh."

Silence closed in again.

After a while, Savage said, "Did you honestly think that she was the only one who tried?"

Nick shook himself. "I… don't know," he said slowly. "I honestly never really thought about it. How, ah, how long ago was it?"

"Three years." One of Savage's paws moved to rest on his bad knee. "It was an accident. Pure, dumb luck. He just happened to fall at exactly the wrong angle." He shrugged. "And that was it."

Nick opened and shut his mouth a few times. Eventually, he said, more out of lack of options than anything else, "I'm sorry."

Savage merely shrugged again. He looked almost bored.

"But that's what the chief meant when he was talking about your history," Nick said. He shook a finger. "I _thought_ that was strange. _And_ that's how you knew Clawhauser. Chief's a real grump, but he looks after us. And you basically _are_ one of us."

He knew the moment the words left his mouth that they were the wrong thing to say. Savage's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Actually," he said sharply, "Chief Bogo was talking about me working as an attaché for Reynard Law. So was Clawhauser. The ZPD doesn't care about keepin' on good terms with another rabbit who couldn't hack it in the academy."

His fingers tightened their grip on his knee. "On the other hand," he grated, "a rabbit who knows how to do the digging they don't wanna have to put up with themselves, and with a fancy dame like that makin' sure he's got court approval to do it… they _love_ that. They might not like _him_ , but you don't got to be liked. You just got to be useful." His upper lip curled back in another sneer, baring his teeth. "Built my life on that. Never realized it until recently. Nobody likes the flatfoot, 'cause he's the one who takes the pictures provin' that their happy little home life isn't so happy. But they sure as hell need him, 'cause there's no way they'd get the proof otherwise."

The chair creaked as Savage stood abruptly, leaning on his cane again. "So that's me done, Officer," he rasped. "Me in a sentence. Washed-out wannabe cop who takes pictures of people doin' things they shouldn't, and isn't liked by anyone much. And the only thing that kept him from bein' arrested is somebody else's rep." He shook his head and broke eye contact, turning instead to limp off into the kitchen. "I don't know why you came here," he muttered, "but if it ain't in that little spiel, you're outta luck. There ain't nothin' else."

Nick remained seated, staring after the rabbit with wide eyes and a slightly stunned expression. After a moment, he murmured something like "hoo, boy" and ran both paws over his face, trying to collect himself.

Savage had tugged open the refrigerator door and was staring disinterestedly at the contents. A moment later, Nick was pushing it closed, which earned another vaguely disdainful look from the rabbit. He ignored it. "Haven't eaten?" he said. "Good. Neither have I. And I tell you what, Jack - can I call you Jack? - I just got off a twelve-hour shift, which means I need some real food in me soon or I'm liable to just keel over." He skimmed one palm off the other, then snapped his fingers, smiling. "So I tell you what. You show me where to get some decent grub around here, and you get a free lunch. Or dinner. Whatever. I won't even complain about the price. Whaddaya say?"

Savage wrinkled his nose, and his eyes flicked up and down along Nick's body again. The same routine as the first time, head-chest-belt-place-where-badge-should-be-face. Sizing him up.

"Why are you here, Officer?" he said.

Nick let the smile fall. "Because I've been where you are," he said. Savage snorted. "No, really," he continued. "I have. And I'll tell you something else. Something I never even told her."

Savage cut across him, his voice sharp and dismissive. "Is this supposed to impress me?" he demanded. "Because I know you, _Officer_ Wilde. And I've been conned by better'n you. Whatever game you think you're playing, I'm not. _Interested_."

He punctuated the last word by jabbing one fingertip into Nick's chest.

Nick looked down at the finger, then back up to Savage's face. The hand did not move.

He sighed. "This is not a routine," he said. "I'm here to _help_ , Jack. I'll admit I don't know exactly how, yet, but I have to try. Because I don't think there's anybody else-" one of Savage's ears twitched "-and if Finnick hadn't been there when I'd hit this spot, I wouldn't be here."

Savage's eyes bored into his. Searching. It was odd, watching his expression. It wasn't just angry. It was almost offended, indignant, as if the honesty in Nick's voice disgusted him. As if he wanted it to be another con, another ploy just to drive the knife in deeper.

Nick slumped a bit. "Look." He took a deep breath. "You can either talk to me, or you can tell me to get out, go back into that bedroom, and stare at your revolver until you either pass out or make a really stupid decision." He gave a weak smile. "I just… don't like the thought of that."

Outside, the rain was starting to come down hard again.

Jack lowered his hand.

Harry Lime's Place wasn't what Nick had been expecting.

Well, it _was_ , in that it was a run-down one-story that barely qualified as anything more than a shack. There was even the buzzing neon sign over the doorway that showed a drunken lime slice lounging in a margarita glass.

He just hadn't expected it to be so… alive.

The interior had obviously been nice, once. They were closer to downtown proper here; some enterprising entrepreneur had probably built the place thinking it a prime location to do business, but had lost the battle with the Marches. And so, whatever it had originally been, it was Harry Lime's Place now.

And what Harry Lime had made it into was a jazz lounge, more or less. The ceiling was low, the lighting was dim, and the air was heavy with the mingled smell of cigarettes and the sound of music.

Admittedly, it was rather amateurish music - the ram on the upright bass couldn't seem to find a tempo - but still. Nicer place than he'd been expecting.

It helped that the food was good, too. It definitely wasn't five stars or anything, and maybe it was just the twelve-hour shift talking, but Nick was seriously considering ordering a second sandwich to follow up the first, and it hadn't been small.

Jack had soup.

He didn't talk much while they ate. He'd put his pinstripe suit back on, left his cane behind, and had slowly sunk back into his usual stony-faced silence.

Or something close to it, anyway. This time, there was less of the feeling that Nick was being shut out, and more that the rabbit just didn't have anything to say.

Nick sighed in satisfaction, drummed his hands on his stomach, and sank back into the cushion. "Ohhhh boy. I needed that."

On stage, the musicians launched into something approximating a swing number. Jack frowned and set down his spoon.

"Nice place," Nick continued cheerfully. "Never been here before. I tried to stay out of the Marches even before I became a cop. Not as bad as I thought it'd be."

That actually got a sarcastic little grin out of the rabbit, and a sound halfway between a snort of derision and a chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "It's not bad. Tough place, but not bad." He looked across the table, towards Nick, and added, "I used to come here with Ariadne."

Nick took his time before responding. He ran his tongue over one tooth, working out a bit of sandwich that had gotten caught in the crevices. They hadn't been drinking, so the mention of Reynard was deliberate. An olive branch, maybe. Expression of trust. _"Do you want to talk about it?"_ was stupid. He'd brought it up. He obviously did.

Eventually, he settled on, "Gotta be honest. I can't imagine her in a place like this." He paused. "Well, okay, a place _like_ this, yeah. The whole jazz lounge thing seems like her style. But not this place specifically."

"Calling me a liar?" Jack was still wearing that wry smile. A joke, but with an implied question on the end.

"Mmm… no," Nick answered brightly. "Let's see. You've got anger issues, a bit of a superiority complex, severe depression-" he ticked them off on his fingers "-problems with trust, and even more anger issues. But you're not a liar."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Superiority complex?"

"You wear a pinstripe suit on a daily basis, refuse to use an umbrella because you like the way the hat looks, hang around in jazz lounges, call women 'dames', hate people seeing you with a cane, and think you deserve the title of 'first bunny cop' more than Judy does," said Nick airily. He picked up the little slice of dill pickle from the side of his plate and took a loud, crunching bite. "Now, I'm not saying you're right or wrong about that last one, but you either," he mumbled as he chewed, "have a superiority complex or are actually deluded enough to think you're a dime novel mystery hero."

That got an actual laugh, and a grin, even if both were rather short-lived. "Well, if I don't get to be a cop, I can at least play at this."

"Right." Nick pointed at him with the remains of the pickle. "So you're about twelve kinds of crazy, but you're not a liar." He paused. "I think she was, though. World-class, probably."

Jack looked away, expression somber again. "Yeah," he said. "She was."

The rest of the pickle vanished between Nick's teeth. "You don't think you ever really knew her."

"I _know_ I never really knew her," said Jack bitterly. "And that…"

He trailed off, scowling.

"Hurts?" supplied Nick.

"No," said Jack. "Well, yes. It does. But that's not what I was trying to say." He turned back, picked up his spoon, and began to twirl it idly between his fingertips. On the stage, the band shifted into something slower and smokier. It took the bassist a moment to realize.

"You were a con man," Jack said eventually. "I'm not. Never have been. But I know how they work. I know how the routines go. I know how to work a conversation, know when someone's playing games with me. I learned, because the truth is _important_."

He set the spoon down. "I've dealt with liars," he said quietly. "I've dealt with the kind of snakes that'd lie through their teeth about innocence even when you were waving the photo in front of their faces. What I've never dealt with, with anyone else - what I never even thought was possible - is someone who's willing to do it every second of every day for two years. To _everyone_. And do it well enough that not one of 'em realizes."

Nick whistled between his teeth. "That's quite a hustle."

"Yeah." Jack sighed and ran a hand over the fur on top of his head. "Yeah, it was."

"And just for you," said Nick, grinning crookedly again. "She must have a serious fascination with rabbits."

"You're one to talk," said Jack levelly, as he reached for his glass. "But it wasn't just for me. I was only part of it."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Then what was the rest?"

"I don't know." Jack frowned as he tipped back a mouthful, swallowed, and shook his head. "I never found out the details. It's the one thing I never wanted to know the details about in the first place." He shook his head. "So I threw her out and tried to forget everything."

"Wait." Nick blinked. " _You_ threw _her_ out?"

Jack gave him an unamused look.

"Sorry," said Nick. "I'm still new to all this, remember? It's been, what, an hour and a half since we started talking? Cut me some slack here, Tracy."

Jack sighed and swirled the remains of his drink around the glass. "I'll spare you the sob story," he muttered, as his eyes followed the ice. "High-class defense attorney. Schmuck working infidelities in the Marches. Turns out one of the ones he's tailing is an associate of a client of hers. They meet."

He paused, and slugged back the rest in one gulp. "Strictly business, when it starts. She feeds him cases and uses her leverage with the courts to get him access to police records that they'd normally keep restricted. He feeds her information, which she uses in her own work. They talk. They get close. They move in together, after a while, even though she doesn't really fit down here in the Marches. And everything's… fine."

He set the glass down sharply, keeping his eyes down, fixed on the tabletop. Nick just let him talk.

"Or he thinks it is, anyway," the rabbit continued. His voice grew increasingly bitter as the story fought its way out. "They don't make sense, she's a fox and he's a rabbit and she's a real lady and he's a cripple, but he feels like they work, and honestly he's pretty happy. He buys a ring, eventually, but never gets around to actually doing anything with it before it starts going wrong. And then he's back to working infidelities. On her."

He sat up and glared at Nick over the table, as if defying him to say something. "He doesn't find all the details. He doesn't want 'em. She's meeting with old clients, people he worked on for her, and there's a racket going on, that much is obvious, even if he can't get any hard evidence. He doesn't know what it is or how it works, but it's obviously there. So she used him for that, too. But it doesn't really matter, because all he needs to throw her out is that she's been cheating on him. And that's it. He's done. And he goes back to working infidelities."

He stopped, breathing hard. Nick found himself feeling honestly impressed that, despite the bitterness, despite the fact that one paw was clamped down on the edge of the table so hard that it was leaving marks, Jack hadn't raised his voice at any point.

"Until she turns up in his apartment," the rabbit muttered, "outta the blue and acting scared. So he goes looking, because he's still an idiot, and then she turns up _again_ , just to twist the knife."

Nick puffed out his cheeks for a moment before exhaling heavily. "Yeah," he said. "She's a real piece of work."

Jack looked up. "You believe me about the apartment, then."

"Can't think of why you'd lie about it." Nick shrugged. "Then again, I can't think of why _she'd_ lie about it, either. I wasn't there. I don't have any details. But I believe you."

The rabbit snorted again, and Nick could see him fighting a smile. "You know," he said, "that really shouldn't be as important as it is."

"Nah." Nick sat back and waved to the waiter. "I told you. I've been there. I know how it is. Saying it helps. Even if saying it is all you can do."

"Yeah." Jack folded his arms over the tabletop, leaned forward, stared into his empty soup bowl, and sighed. "I know," he said slowly, "that there's something else going on with her. But I…" He shut his eyes. "I don't _care_. I'm done."

"I'm still gonna have to ask you about the Berengers at some point," Nick said, as he peered at the check and counted out bills. "When I'm in uniform again."

Jack shook his head. "Haven't got a clue," he said. "I did some basic work on 'em back when I was working with her, but there was nothing special about it. Their names were only on the list because I was grasping at straws."

"Still," said Nick. "I could do with that in writing. Help your new best pal out."

As it turned out, Jack could still glare with the best of them.

"Oh, come on." Nick put on his most innocent face. "After that heart-to-heart, you're still gonna act like we aren't buddies? I've known guys that would swear a life debt for five dollars. Dinner and a shoulder to cry on's gotta be worth _something_."

"Don't push-" Jack stopped, frowning, and reached inside his suit jacket to withdraw a sleek black phone. He peered at the screen for a moment, frown deepening, then lifted it to an ear and said, "Effie?"

Nick shoved his wallet back into a pocket, watching carefully. He could see the tension building in the rabbit's body again. When Jack made eye contact again, he felt it building in him as well.

"Effie. Stay calm, doll. Where are you?"

By the time that Jack had shrugged back into his coat, Nick was already at the door, umbrella open, waiting for him. "Effie, I'm at Harry Lime's," Jack was saying. His voice was sharp and clipped. "I've got a cop with me. Stay on the phone, and stay out of sight. We're coming to get you."

And, with Jack Savage limping ahead as fast as his bad leg would carry him, they set out into the night.


	7. SEVEN

**SEVEN**

* * *

 _HOW DAME REYNARD BECAME ROYAL DOORKEEPER._

 _In the king's court it was ordained that the cat would be royal chamberlain and the dog would be doorkeeper. The cat was made chamberlain so he would eat the mice who were destroying hangings, and because of his similarity to the king. The dog was made doorkeeper so that, with his ability to hear things from afar, he could bark and let the king know when people were coming._

 _While the cat and the dog were carrying out their duties, Dame Reynard went off to find the ox and the horse, who had left the royal court. On her way she met the ox, who was returning to the king's court. It was in a lovely plain that Dame Reynard and the ox met. Each greeted the other in friendly fashion…_

 _Dame Reynard on her side told the fox about the situation at court, as recounted above._

 _...The ox understood, from what Dame Reynard said, that the king and his council were wicked, and… said to Dame Reynard that he would leave the country altogether rather than put himself at the discretion of a king and council who governed so wickedly._

 _...Dame Reynard said to the ox: "Sir Ox… if you want, I will counsel you so that you may induce the king - my lord and yours - to take on a better attitude, from which action of yours there will follow much good."_

 _The ox promised Dame Reynard that he would do all the good things he could to bring the king and his subjects into a better situation._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Leaving the cane behind had been a mistake. Jack's bad leg was screaming at him as he stomped over the uneven cobbles.

It would have been bad enough without the rain. With it, he was forced to slog through what felt like three feet of water every time they came to a rut in the road. Already, there was the tight, clenching feeling on the back of his thigh that warned of strain.

He ignored it and pressed the phone harder against his ear, trying to block out the drumming of the rain.

"Algernon Place," he said. "Just passing Kasper's. Heading for the Trip Street bridge. We'll meet you there."

"Trip's out," said Nick's voice behind him. The fox had to raise his voice to be heard; the rain was coming down harder again, and the rumble of thunder was returning. "It's three feet deep there. Can she get to Catahoula?"

"Scratch Trip, Effie." Jack hissed between his teeth as he limped across a crosswalk. He didn't even bother to check the light. "Catahoula. Can you get there?"

 _"_ _I can try,"_ said the sharp little voice on the other end. Not a hint of fear there. She'd clamped down on that hard. Perfect little ice queen, now. Jack found himself smiling crookedly at the thought. _"It's bad down here, though, Jack. Even worse than Topside. Half of the tunnels are closed or flooded. Even the wheels aren't running."_

"Try anyway," said Jack. "And keep us posted on where you are. The boys in blue are on their way."

He shot a glance over his shoulder at Nick, who gave him a silent thumbs-up. His phone was out, too, and held tight against the side of his face. He'd folded up the umbrella to keep a hand free, and was soaked to the skin, but if he felt it, it didn't show.

 _"_ _Good luck to them,"_ said Effie, sounding a bit disdainful. _"I'd like to see them trying to fit into the tunnels. Undercity precinct's no good either. The storms have been hitting us hard."_

"Yeah, you're gonna have to get up topside eventually." Jack lurched to a halt, peered around at the haze of neon and orange, and then jerked his head towards a side street. Together, he and the fox set off down the alleyway. "In the meantime, we need descriptions, Effie. Faces."

 _"_ _At least two rats that I saw."_ Effie was back to her usual prim, perfect harridan self. He could almost see her expression in his head: lips pursed, eyes narrowed, tiny nose lifted and twitching. _"Young and scruffy. You know the type. I didn't stop to take a picture, though, and I don't intend to. Even if they hadn't pulled knives, their lynx friend didn't look very friendly, either. The usual dumb musclehead."_

Jack suddenly found himself painfully aware of the empty space below his shoulder. Leaving his revolver at the apartment was an even stupider decision than the cane. "Where'd you see them last?"

 _"_ _I managed to leave some bruises on the first one back in the office,"_ said Effie, with a hint of pride in her voice. _"Slowed him down somewhat, I imagine. I think I managed to lose the second somewhere around Petal and Pack, but I can't be sure. We're flooded out. Everyone's holed up, or running around in ponchos. I can't tell who's who. Sheer mayhem."_

He could imagine. Little Rodentia was only the most visible of Zootopia's small-mammal population centers. It was far from the largest. Underside dwarfed it by orders of magnitude; the tunnels wound all over the city, snaking around one another and intersecting at intervals that only made sense to the rodents themselves.

And they used what was already there, too. The subway tunnels of Zootopia were covered in miniature versions of themselves, suspended from the ceiling or affixed to the walls, but they weren't the only parts of the city underground that Underside connected to. With the city's gutters overflowing, huge swathes of the tunnel networks would be completely inaccessible without crossing through Zootopia Topside.

Nick's paw tapped him on the shoulder. "We have a description?" he hissed.

"At least two rats in the tunnels and a lynx up above," said Jack. "Effie, can you get out of the crowds? Somewhere safe. Go to ground. We'll find you."

"What?" The phone was snatched out of his fingers. He spun, staring, to see Nick trying to hold both phones against the same side of his face. "Miss… Effie? Listen. _Don't_ leave the crowds. Don't go anywhere without other people around. If you're being chased, that's what they want. Stay where there's light and people. Cops are on their way."

He blinked. "Oh. Uh. Officer Wilde, ZPD." A pause. "I'm with Jack."

Another pause, and then the phone was being held out towards him again. "It's for you," muttered Nick.

Jack snatched it back, turned, and lurched off into the rain again, ignoring the shrieking of the muscles in his leg. The momentary stop hadn't been much, but it was better than walking. Again, he shut it out. "Yes?"

 _"_ _Who's your friend?"_

"The cop I mentioned," he answered shortly. "He's callin' this in."

 _"_ _Jumpy, isn't he?"_

"A bit." Jack grinned crookedly in the dark. "But he's probably right. Stay in the crowds. And stay on the phone."

There was no response from the other end.

"Effie?"

More silence. Just as Jack thought his heart was about to stop, there was a crackle, and the mouse's voice came through. Quieter, and with a note of tension that had almost vanished previously, but still there. Still alive. _"I'm here."_

"What's happening?"

 _"_ _One of the rats,"_ said Effie. The connection buzzed for a moment. When it cleared, he caught the words _"-Catahoula exchange. I may not be able to cross the bridge, but I can get up Topside from there. Just make sure your cop friend is there. If the rats are still tracking me, so's the lynx."_

"Arright. Stay on the line, doll. Fifteen minutes." Jack started to lower the phone as they drew up to another, busier crosswalk, but another crackle of sound from the other end stopped him.

 _"_ _Jack, wait."_

"Yeah? I'm here, Effie. Talk to me." Jack glanced back over his shoulder. Nick was dialing again. "Who you calling?"

"Carrots," said the fox simply. "Her apartment's not far from Catahoula. She'll be there faster than we can."

Jack screwed up his face in disbelief. "You call her _Carrots?_ "

Nick drew himself up. "Yeah," he said. "I do. And she's never had a problem with it."

Jack made a noise in the back of his throat, shook his head very slightly, and turned away again. "Sorry about that, Effie. You were saying?"

 _"_ _I was saying,"_ answered the mouse, _"that I think you were right."_

Jack slowed to a halt on the sidewalk, staring at nothing. Neon flashed and buzzed overhead. Nick stepped up beside him, gave him a searching look. He seemed very far away.

"Right about what, Effie?" he said quietly.

 _"_ _About Ariadne,"_ said Effie sharply. _"Obviously. I think she_ is _in trouble. Or… something like that. I'm not sure."_

"She can't be," said Jack. "I saw her earlier today. I _talked_ to her, Effie. She's… fine."

A dozen other descriptors piled onto his tongue, but he forced them all down. Swallowed them whole and bitter.

 _"_ _Jack."_ Effie's voice was sharp and cutting, like a schoolteacher dealing with an errant pupil. _"I shouldn't have to remind you that_ I _am the one currently being tailed by knife-wielding thugs - crossing Armitage, by the way - and that you have no excuse whatsoever for not making the same connections I have. For god's sake, you two were practically married."_

"'Were' being the key phrase here," said Jack, as he forced himself into motion again. He shouldered past a drunken koala staggering towards an alleyway.

Underfoot, the cobbles were becoming more and more uneven; they were approaching the end of the Marches closest to the Canal District, and the streets weren't so much paved any more as they were loosely strung together by patchwork. Occasionally, something under his feet squelched, or one leg became caught, forcing him to wrench it free and sending another shock up his spine.

 _"_ _That is as may be,"_ said Effie primly, _"but you said it yourself: she doesn't take vacations. And you cannot tell me that my searching her offices has nothing to do with the thugs currently chasing me-"_

"You searched her office?" Jack pressed a hand against his other ear, trying to block out the sounds of the city. He kept his eyes straight ahead. Towards the next turn. Towards Catahoula.

 _"_ _That is what I said."_ Effie sniffed delicately. _"You aren't the only person in the world who worries about her, you know. There was nothing unusual in the paperwork, but I did find a bug."_

"Bug?" Jack knew his brain was working slowly. It felt like he was trying to think through molasses. The rain was coming down hard, and the sky was filled with thunder, and every other step he took felt like he was towing a lead weight. There were connections he should have been making, he knew it.

 _"_ _Yes, Jack, a bug. A microphone. A little thing hidden inside her office telephone._ Focus, _Jack. Her office is bugged, and when I came out to close up the building for the night, those three were waiting for me. You cannot tell me that this is coincidence. I will not hear it."_

There was a rapid, hollow clicking from Effie's end of the line. Wherever she was, it was tight, and metallic, and left the sound of her heels clicking on the floor echoing for several seconds. _"I'm running out of crowd,"_ she said. Still perfectly, absolutely calm and level. Effie didn't exactly have nerves of steel, but she _did_ have absolute poise, and once she'd been reminded to stay calm, she'd never, ever let it slip. _"Not that there was much to begin with, really, but if I'm going to meet you at Catahoula, we had best make it quick. I still have my derringer in case the rats show up again, but it won't do much against the lynx."_

"You have a derringer?" Jack said. He heard the ragged edge in his own voice, hated the sound. Cursed his leg.

 _"_ _Of course I have a derringer, Jack,"_ said Effie, sounding half amused, half exasperated. _"I've only worked as Ariadne's secretary for four years now. For heaven's sake, she's a criminal defense attorney. I should hope that your opinion of me is not so low as to think that I hadn't taken the time to learn to defend myself."_ She huffed into the microphone. _"I hit the one in the office somewhere_ very _sensitive. I imagine he'll be at a loss as to what to do with himself on those lonely nights for at least a few weeks."_

Despite himself, despite the exhaustion and the lack of sleep and the way his nerves were twanging like a bowstring, Jack found himself grinning. "Effie," he said, his voice so warm that it surprised even him, "you are magnificent."

 _"_ _The best, darling. Never forget it. How long until your cop friend gets here?"_

Jack turned. Nick was striding along at his side, phone still against his ear, eyes on Jack's face. For a moment, the rabbit had to fight down a surge of bitterness at the easy way he kept pace - he wasn't even _jogging_ \- but the thought of Effie was too important.

"How long?"

Nick repeated the question into the phone, then said, "One and a half, two minutes. About three for us, I think."

Jack scowled. _And we started before she did._ "Two minutes, Effie."

"Is she still being chased?"

He blinked and looked back over to Nick. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Nick was frowning heavily, staring ahead at the next intersection. The rain matted his fur down close to his head and dripped from his muzzle. "Because she's been talking this whole time," he said. "And they've probably been listening. Even if they haven't, they have to know there are cops on the way. But they're still coming. That's… worrying. Carrots-" he raised his voice and tightened his grip on the phone "-do you have your belt?" A pause. "Good. Okay. You might need it. Watch for the lynx."

The sudden, sharp shriek from his phone almost stopped Jack's heart.

"Effie?" He almost shouted her name, and forced his screaming leg to lurch faster. "Effie, doll, talk to me."

Two short, echoing pops came through the line, the staccato notes of gunfire. Some part of him was conscious of the fact that Nick had broken into a full sprint, and was disappearing around the corner ahead, just a shadow in the neon glow, but the rest of him was focused on dragging out every possible detail from the sounds in his ear. His jerky, pathetic attempts at running were left on autopilot.

His grip on the phone was so tight that he could hear the plastic creaking.

Only two shots. No more. A series of rapid-fire, echoing clicks - footsteps, too light to be anyone but Effie's. Then, finally, someone panting into the receiver.

There were only four words. _"They're here. Going up."_

And then there was a series of loud clatters, and silence.

The phone disappeared into his pocket, and Jack's ears swiveled in the dark, pointing forward, straining to pick up anything, anything at all. There was so little audible, beneath the rush of water and the tectonic rumble of thunder above. Sirens, perhaps. Just barely audible, in the distance. Too far. Too, too far.

Panting hard, he slid the last few feet across the swampy ground and turned onto the Catahoula Street bridge.

Old bridge. Rusted, decaying, archaic in design, barely more than a slab of metal laid over the river that separated the Rainforest District from Savannah Central and with more of the dull orange sodium lamps, half broken, half dim, hung from the arch. Red rust clung to it under the mud and the water, the accumulated detritus of traffic that was running over it in thick streams.

It was too far away. The block and a half might as well have been a mile, with his leg singing its agonizing tune.

He could see Nick, sprinting forward, closer than he was but still too far out. The fox darted through the little pools of orange from the sodium lamps like a bullet, light-shadow-light-shadow, running so hard that he was nearly nose to the pavement. He could see the tiny shape that must have been Judy Hopps, approaching from the other end.

He saw the shape unfolding from the shadows behind her, and tried to open his mouth to shout a warning, but there wasn't enough air in his lungs. He heard Nick's voice, raised, and then the echoing boom of the shotgun.

Hopps went down, and for one heart-stopping moment Jack was sure she was dead, but she rolled when she hit, and when she came up, there was an answering series of smaller pops, and the shape - the lynx - dove behind one of the support struts.

There were sirens now, distant but approaching fast, and Jack could see the lights coming on in the apartments flanking the street. He ignored them, ignored everything, and focused on running.

There was another boom, and an answering crash of metal. Hopps vanished into the shadows under a broken light, pistol still barking as she returned fire. He ignored even that, kept his eyes on the far end of the bridge, where he knew the Catahoula Underside metro station had its exit.

Effie emerged just as he felt the metal of the bridge under his feet.

The details were hard to make out. Beyond the way her perfectly-curled hair shone under the bridge lights, he couldn't see anything. But she was running flat-out, weaving back and forth, in and out of the bridge's railing.

The rats that emerged behind her were gaining fast.

Nick saw them, too. Jack saw him change course, rocketing across the open center of the bridge, away from cover. There was a warning shout from Hopps, another roar from the shotgun - but the fox had already leapt, flinging himself towards the railing with arms outstretched. One of the rats vanished under an avalanche of red and green.

The second kept running, and Jack felt ice water flood his mind as he realized that he was still going to be too slow. He was so close now, close enough that he could see Effie's eyes locked on him, see that she had ditched her heels in the tunnels somewhere, see the look of mingled fear and determination as she sprinted towards him for all she was worth - but the rat was faster, and with his left leg growing number by the moment, he was too far behind.

All he could do was watch as the rat leapt, something gleaming in one hand.

He shouted something - he wasn't sure what it was, it probably wasn't even a word - and threw himself forward. Something slipped under him. He sprawled hard, felt his knee connect with the pavement at entirely the wrong angle. Pushed himself up. Lunged again.

Felt warm fur under his paws.

Another yell. There was more gunfire now, and he was dimly aware of the orange being drowned out by flashing blue and red, but the rush of blood in his ears and the thumping, red-rimmed tunnel vision demanded that he focus.

Two rodents in his hands. One small. One large, squirming, swinging something metal. A dim sense of pain. Possibly teeth. He tugged them apart, found the one that was larger. Squeezed until something gave. Threw it aside.

There was someone else shouting now. Quite a lot of someones, storming onto the bridge and filling the air with noise. There was no more gunfire. The air was full of sirens, and the sound of rain.

He barely heard it.

In the flickering orange light of the sodium lamps, Jack Savage cradled the tiny, rain-soaked body in his paws and wept.


	8. EIGHT

**EIGHT**

* * *

 _Dame Reynard therefore advised the ox to go to a lovely meadow near where the king and his barons were staying, and to eat and rest, so that he would be handsome to look at and in strong voice for bellowing. "And as soon as you feel yourself well and strong again, Sir Ox, you must bellow as loud as you can, three times by day, and three times by night, and in the meantime I will have discussed your situation with the king."_

 _The ox followed Dame Reynard's advice, while she returned to the royal court. When the ox had rested a great deal and was strong again, he began to bellow mightily. And when Dame Reynard heard him bellowing, she went before the king… [who] was pleased to have Dame Reynard nearby, and he asked her if she knew what sort of an animal was producing that noise, because from the sound of it, it seemed to him that it must be a large and powerful beast._

 _...The king could not help showing his fear, and he said that if the animal's strength were in proportion to its voice, some evil would come to that place. The ox bellowed once again, and the lion and all the members of his council were afraid; but Dame Reynard showed no fear at all, maintaining instead her cheerfulness in front of the king and his council. The king and all the others were in great wonder at Dame Reynard's lack of fear, and the king said to her:_

 _"_ _Reynard," said the king, "how can it be that you are not afraid of so powerful and strange a voice? As you can see, I, who am so strong, and the bear, the leopard, and many other beasts stronger than you, are afraid of this voice."_

 _Dame Reynard answered the king, saying:_

 _"_ _A crow used to make its nest in a rock, and every year a large snake would come and eat the fledglings. The crow was very angry at the snake that ate its fledglings, but he did not dare fight it, since he was not strong enough to be able to defeat it by force of arms. The crow realized he would have to employ some ruse, since his strength was inadequate. It came to pass one day that a princess was playing with her companions in an orchard, and she had placed her diadem of gold, silver, and precious stones on the branch of a tree. The crow took the diadem and flew about with it for a long time until many men were following him to see where he would put down the diadem, which the princess especially loved, and over whose loss she was crying bitterly. The crow put it down near the snake, and when the men came to retrieve the diadem they saw the snake and killed it. Thus did the crow, through art and cunning, make use of others against the snake. And in the same way, my lord," Dame Reynard said to the lion, "such is my art and cunning, that if it came to pass that I could not vanquish by force of arms this animal who has so loud and terrifying a voice, I would use art and cunning to make an end of him."_

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Nick's paws itched under the bandages.

It wasn't pain, exactly. The paramedics had given him something for that, back on the bridge. It was just a sort of dull, persistent, vaguely unpleasant sensation.

It matched the buzzing in his head pretty well, really. In the few months since he had become a full officer of the ZPD, he'd never actually been in a shootout. Or had a knife pulled on him, even if it was a rat-sized one. More than that, while he'd been called to the scene of a homicide before, he'd never been present as one was committed.

As he _failed to prevent it._

It was not a nice feeling.

He was very, very tired. It wasn't entirely physical, though his legs were aching and he was distantly aware of the fact that he had come off a twelve-hour shift, hiked across half of Savannah Central, and then run back without any real rest in between. He was going to need some sleep soon. But most of it was _inside_ , a sort of pervasive grayness that seemed to fill the inside of his head with fog.

There was still a bit of pride, though, in the knowledge that he wasn't showing much of it. He'd caught a glimpse of his reflection in the precinct windows as they arrived. His fur was matted with rain and road slime, his hands were thickly bandaged, and his clothes were basically write-offs at this point, but he himself still looked bright-eyed and alert.

Bogo pulled open the door to his office just as he was about to knock.

"Wilde," he said quietly, as he stepped aside to make room. "Take a seat."

"Hey, what's with the long face, Chief?" Nick's voice was its usual chipper self as he slipped inside and dropped, with _just_ enough straightness in his posture to not quite qualify as "sprawling", into the chair. "You're looking almost concerned there. Better be careful. I might start getting the wrong idea about-"

"Knock it off, Wilde," Bogo grunted, as he returned to his own seat.

"There's the chief we all know and lo-"

"I said _knock it off, Wilde,_ " Bogo repeated. This time, Nick shut his mouth. There was something about Bogo's voice that said, even more so than usual, he was not going to be taking any jokes. It wasn't angry. It was just… serious. And, yes, concerned.

The chief rolled his shoulders and breathed out heavily through his nose. For a few long seconds, he just stared at Nick across the desk.

Nick was disgusted to find himself actually squirming.

Eventually, Bogo cleared his throat and looked down to the desk. It was covered in paperwork. "Three dead," he said simply. "An as-yet-unidentified lynx, shot in the chest by Officer Hopps. An as-yet-unidentified rat, ribs crushed and neck broken during a scuffle with Mister Savage. One more rat, escaped into the Underside tunnels. Two officers and one civilian with minor injuries." He shuffled the papers around for a moment, plucked one up, and peered at it. "And Mrs. Effie Perine, forty-nine. Two-oh-one Tasmania Street, Little Rodentia. Secretary to Ariadne Reynard. Survived by two children, both of whom currently reside in Gnu York. Multiple stab wounds to the back. Deceased."

He looked up, and Nick found himself inwardly bracing for an outburst - but when Bogo spoke, his voice was quiet. Worryingly so.

"Was there anything not reported in the call you made to the precinct which needs to be added to the report?"

Nick looked down at his hands.

Bogo huffed. "Your… inability to keep a grip on a rat that was stabbing you in the hands is regrettable, but understandable, Wilde."

"Well, in that case…" Nick frowned and raised his head. "No. Not that I can think of, boss. But Jack was the one talking to her. You'd better ask him about that."

"I intend to." Bogo set down the sheet of paper - Nick caught a glimpse of a photograph paper-clipped to it, featuring a slim little mouse woman in a businesslike suit-and-skirt combination, a head of impressively permed curls, and an expression of thin-lipped severity - and pushed it aside. "But first I need to know why you were with Mister Savage to begin with."

Another squirm tried to force its way out. Nick fought it, realized he couldn't win, and compromised for just running a hand over the rain-soaked fur on his head and down the back of his neck. "Uh. Just personal stuff, sir."

Bogo raised his eyebrows.

Nick coughed. "Really, sir. I was just…"

"...Just trying to help someone that you felt was in need," Bogo finished for him. There was a moment of searingly awkward silence, during which Nick silently pleaded with any deity that happened to be listening that a hole would open up and swallow him.

It didn't.

Instead, Bogo sighed heavily, leaned forward, and folded his hands together on the desktop as he peered at the fox. His expression was oddly gentle. It was still Bogo, still looked like a cement block held together by gristle and generalized annoyance at the universe, but still. Gentle.

"Every officer in this precinct gets one of these," he said slowly. _"One._ You do not talk about this after it is over. You do not expect it to happen again. Am I understood?"

Nick stared. "Nnno, sir. Afraid not."

There was another sigh from the water buffalo, and he lifted both of his hands to rub at his face. After a moment, he muttered, "It is going to kill me to say this."

Nick flicked an ear. "Say what, boss?"

"You are a good officer, Wilde."

Nick blinked.

"You are a good officer, and I am genuinely glad to have you on the force." Bogo's voice was still quiet, and he still had one hand over his eyes, but his words were certain. "And in fact, if I am being _painfully_ honest - which I am, believe me-" he lowered his hand and fixed Nick with a piercing stare "-I think you are one of the best officers we have."

Nick's head tilted, very slowly, over onto one side. After several very, very quiet seconds, he managed, "Sir?"

"Not the most experienced," Bogo continued. "Certainly not the most respectful. Not the most reliable, or trustworthy, or anything else. But one of the best nonetheless. Because you care. You care so much it hurts."

"Everyone cares, sir." Nick's own voice sounded very distant and uncertain, even to him. "I mean, if that's the criteria, Ca- Hopps is probably the best cop in history. I wouldn't even _be_ a cop if it weren't for her."

He felt ambushed. The chief didn't talk like this. He ought to have given some _warning_ first. This wasn't fair.

Bogo huffed and leaned back in his chair. "Officer Hopps is another strong candidate, but she has…" He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "...a view of things that is very simple, and sometimes wrong. She thinks that being a cop is about saving the world. You know better."

Something in Nick managed to find purchase in the confusion, and he found himself raising a finger. "Point of order, boss," he said, with a crooked grin, "I actually _did_ save the-"

"Do not push it, Wilde."

He lowered the finger.

Bogo pinched the bridge of his nose. "The point is, Wilde," he rumbled, "that you are much more of a _realist_ than Officer Hopps. You know what this city is actually like. What _people_ are actually like. And yet you still take the time, after a twelve-hour shift, to seek out a rabbit you barely know purely because you believe him to be in need of emotional support. That is genuinely admirable, and I applaud you for it, and if you ever repeat that to another soul _they will never find your corpse._ "

Nick suddenly found himself sitting up very, very straight indeed.

 _"_ _Are we clear?"_ growled Bogo.

"Aaaabsotutely, Chief," Nick croaked.

"Good." Bogo turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Now get out of my office."

Nick didn't move. After a few seconds, Bogo looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes?"

Nick smacked his lips. "I just, ah…"

"What _is it,_ Wilde?" The usual annoyance was bleeding back into Bogo's voice.

"What was the _point_ of that, Chief?"

Bogo snorted and looked down again. "Your first bad day," he said flatly. "For the record, Officer Hopps had hers three weeks before you joined. There was a car accident. Children were involved."

Nick flinched. He remembered the phone call.

Bogo opened a desk drawer, withdrew a pen, and began to fill out one of the forms. "Speaking of Officer Hopps, the two of you have tomorrow off." His eyes flickered towards the clock. _"Today_ off."

"Off, sir?" Nick wrinkled his nose. "But I thought-"

Bogo put one hand flat on the desktop. "Officer Wilde, do you _want_ me to tell you that I expect you in first thing in the morning to pick up this investigation?"

"Er…" Nick swallowed. Even as he said the words, he couldn't entirely believe he was doing it. "Yes, sir. I do."

Bogo looked up. _"Why?"_

"Because I was there, sir," Nick said. His voice was becoming smoother now, more self-assured. "When it happened. When _all_ of it happened, from Savage turning up at the station to bringing him in to trying to stop it in the moment. I have the most information about any of this, and I'm pretty sure Savage will talk to me more easily than he'll talk to anyone else. And he _is_ wrapped up in this, sir. You _know_ he is, as much as I do. Even if neither of us knows how yet."

The chief gave him a long, considering look. Then he sighed. "And if I say 'no'," he growled, "you'll just go to Savage in your free time and do your own digging."

"Yessir." Nick clapped a hand over his muzzle a moment too late.

To his astonishment, Bogo merely grunted. "Fine," he said flatly. "The case is yours. _After_ you get some sleep. Now get out of my office."

Nick fled.

He found Jack in one of the break rooms, sitting on one of the benches set against the wall with his back to a filing cabinet. His right leg was drawn up close to his chest, but his left was extended in front of him at an uncomfortable angle.

He'd taken off the coat and hat, which left him in his old-fashioned pinstripe suit - and, from the waist down, streaked and soaked in the runoff from the bridge. There was an unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips.

He didn't look round when Nick entered. He just kept staring ahead, at the blank white wall opposite, with absolutely no expression on his face.

Judy, on the other hand, perked up the moment he stepped through the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her fur was a complete mess, and she was - if such a thing were possible - even grimier than Jack, but she did offer him a weak little smile as she raised her head.

"So?" she said. "What's the news?"

The brightness in her voice was brittle and forced, but Nick just smiled, stepped in, and reached up to straighten his tie as he kicked the door shut behind himself. "Well, I may have just had the most terrifying discussion of my life, and we have a new case on our hands. But on the bright side, we are being allowed to sleep in."

Judy huffed and lifted a paw to try and pat down some of the fur on top of her head. All at once, Nick realized that she had answered his call in her pajamas. Aside from the thick black belt around her waist, she looked as if she had just rolled out of bed. "Well, that's something, anyway. Though I could personally use about a week's worth of sleep right now."

There was a quiet, metallic click from Jack. He'd produced a small, sleek, silver lighter from some inner pocket of his suit.

"Since when do you smoke?" asked Nick.

"Since I gave up quitting," muttered Jack, as the cigarette flared to life. "So about ten seconds ago."

One of Judy's ears tilted to the side. "You quit, but you still carry around a full pack and a lighter?"

"If you can't resist the temptation, you aren't quitting." Jack snapped the lighter shut and pushed it back into an inner pocket of his suit. His eyes were still fixed on the far wall. "You're just lying to yourself."

Finally, he turned his head, and his eyes swept over each of them in turn. "I don't make friends easy," he said, in a very slow and careful voice. "I got contacts all over the city. I got books filled with associates. But I don't have many friends."

He lifted one hand to his mouth, while the other moved to grip something lying by his side. Someone at the station had found him a cane. As he swung his bad leg around and forced himself upright, Nick made a mental note to find out who had done it and thank them.

"And now," Jack grunted, "I got one less."

Again, his gaze swept over each of them in turn. Nick. Judy. Nick. Judy.

"You ain't doing this without me."

"Of course we aren't," said Judy. "You're the best source of information we have."

Nick wrinkled his nose - she always beat him to the punch - and settled for grinning, stepping around the table, and tweaking one of her ears. "Besides, it won't be the first time Officer Hopps has had to look outside the precinct for guidance."

She shot him an exasperated look, but Jack merely grunted and lifted his cigarette back to his lips. "Wherever the two of you are goin' for the night," he said, "go together."

Nick spluttered for a moment and released his grip on Judy's ear. "Excuse me?"

"And go armed," said Jack insistently. "You're in this up to your necks now, whether you planned on it or not. And once the Marches've got a grip, they don't let up 'til you drown."

Judy stared at him, head tilted to one side, expression bemused. Nick laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "Thanks, Jack. Good to know you care. And that was the plan anyway."

Now Judy was looking at him. "Was it?"

"You bet your tail it was," said Nick, with a toothy grin. "You know I'll take any excuse for more time with my favorite meter maid."

She opened her mouth to retort, but Jack cut across her with a flat "Good," and turned to lurch towards the door. "Chased her across half Savannah Central," he said, apparently to the air. "Didn't split when they heard the cops were coming. Made the last jump to get the knife in her with me right there. That means stupid, suicidal, or desperate, and whichever one it is… dangerous."

He cast one last look at the two of them over his shoulder as he set his hand on the door handle. "So you two watch each other," he said. "You watch each other close, and don't you dare let go for a moment."

And that was where he had obviously intended it to end. He opened the door, and began to step forward - but Clawhauser was already there, trying very hard to look as though he hadn't just been caught eavesdropping.

Nick couldn't see Jack's expression from this angle, but seeing Clawhauser's face go from mere nervousness to sheer terror was enough. "U-um." He swallowed hard, and tried again. "Uh. Ja- Mister Savage…?"

 _"_ _What."_

"There's. Er. There's… Miss…" Clawhauser looked petrified, and Nick was afraid that they'd have to put up with another ten seconds of stammering before anything coherent came out - but he saw Jack's ears go flat against the back of his head at the same moment that he smelled it.

Cigarettes. Not the foul, tarry thing that Jack was smoking, but the good stuff. The kind that came in the sleek little box, wrapped in black, and were almost long enough to be cigars.

Jack didn't move for several seconds. Then, very slowly, he said, "Send her in."

And shut the door.

Nick watched as the rabbit turned and strode back across the break room, swaying slightly as his cane thunked its way past the table. He didn't look at either of them. He just made his way towards the little coffee machine, lifted up the half-full pot of lukewarm instant mix, and poured himself a cup.

With surprising lightness in his voice, he said to no one in particular, "I haven't slept in twenty-five hours."

He set the mug down. Reached for another. Poured it out as well. Reached for the sugar.

It was Judy who spoke first. "You _want_ to talk to her?" she said. Her voice was a stage whisper. "After- I mean, Mister Savage, do you think that this is a good idea?"

Two spoonfuls. Stir. "Yeah," said Jack Savage calmly. His cigarette was still hanging from his lips. "I do."

 _"_ _Why?"_

Nick squeezed her shoulder, trying to warn her to lower her voice, but Jack merely reached for the cream. "Two reasons," he said, as his ears came up again. "One, she knows more than she's telling, and we're gonna have to talk to her eventually. Might as well be now. Two." He stirred again, picked up both cups, and turned back towards the door, leaning against the countertop behind him. "She might be a heartless, lying, manipulative old bag, but she loved Effie as much as I did."

He flicked his gaze towards the two of them. "This is a funeral," he said. "Neutral ground."

The door opened.

It was odd, watching the two of them. Like a long, elaborate dance, the kind that had been built up, step by step, over the course of years. The dancers might have been a little rusty, things might have changed since it happened last, but it was still the same dance.

Ariadne Reynard was every bit as radiant as she had been when Nick first saw her. Again, he couldn't quite stop his grip from tightening on Judy's shoulder, just a bit, and his eyes from going a bit wide at the sight of her striding through the doorway.

It wasn't so much about looks, really, though she was far from ugly. It was about the way she carried herself. It was _poise._ It was the way you looked at her and knew, absolutely _knew,_ that every motion, every breath, every little motion of her eyes or sway of her hips was deliberate. She knew that she was beautiful. She _made sure_ that she was beautiful. And she did it, not to attract stares - though she would never turn those down - but for her own satisfaction.

She barely even glanced at Nick and Judy. They didn't even warrant a nod. From the instant that she entered the room, her attention was on Jack Savage.

Nick had to admit that, even covered in mud and unable to stand upright without bracing himself against the counter, the rabbit held up pretty well.

Their eyes were locked as she strode towards him. Nick got the distinct feeling that the world had just been divided, quite firmly, into two halves: the half that contained Jack Savage and Ariadne Reynard, and the half that didn't matter.

Judy looked up at him, both eyebrows raised. All he could do was look down, mirror her bemused expression, and shrug.

"It's true, then," said Reynard.

"'Fraid so." Jack extended his left hand and pressed the mug with cream and sugar in it into her paws. "She's gone."

There was a grunting noise, and both Nick and Judy turned to see the massive elephant that had been with Reynard earlier crouching awkwardly to shuffle under the doorway. Even once he was inside, he couldn't fully straighten up without knocking his head on the cheap tile ceiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick could see that neither Jack nor Reynard had even bothered to look round.

Reynard simply stood there for a moment, cupping her mug of instant coffee in both hands, as both she and Jack regarded one another in…

...well, it wasn't silence. It wasn't even close to silence. They were talking. It was just that nothing was actually being said aloud. It didn't need to be. It was the kind of silence that only came with absolute familiarity, the kind of not-talking that he and Judy did sometimes, when they were pulling night shift or working a stakeout and just sitting in the car for hours on end.

The elephant coughed, shuffled over to the table, pulled two chairs around, and sat down. There was an ominous creak, but nothing broke.

Reynard took a deep breath and raised her mug. "Effie, then," she said. Her voice was brittle.

Jack nodded once, lifted his own mug, and murmured, "Effie."

There was a clink. They drank.

When the mugs were lowered again, the vixen grimaced and shook her head. "Euch. Disgusting stuff."

"Yeah, well." Jack brought his cigarette back up to his lips. "It's a police station, not a five-star."

There was another creak as the elephant, a massive wall of grey skin, black suit, and gold rings, leaned over the table towards Nick and Judy. _"Have you ever noticed,"_ he whispered, in a voice that was both so thick with his strange accent that it could barely be understood and far too loud to actually go unheard, _"the way that the world goes still when two people like that meet?"_ And he pointed towards Reynard's back with his trunk.

Nick blinked, and felt Judy's hand come up to settle on the one he still had on her shoulder. One squeeze. He didn't need to look down to know that she was wearing the same confused expression.

The elephant's eyes flicked back and forth between their faces for a moment. Then he grunted and straightened up, waving one massive hand dismissively. "Bah," he said. "Ignore me. It is only a thought."

"So this is the part," said Jack, "where you try and tell me not to take this case."

"And you refuse, of course." Reynard's voice was slightly clipped, but not nearly as acidic as it had been during the last time Nick had heard her speak. She stepped past Jack, set her half-full mug down on the countertop, and reached into a pocket to withdraw a sleek black case.

"Of course," said Jack. The lighter was out again. A moment later, there was a click, and Reynard brought one of her slim, sweet-smelling cigarettes to her lips again.

"The police can handle it," she continued, without much conviction.

"They're gonna handle it," answered Jack, as the lighter vanished again. "I'm making sure of that." He took a drag on his own cigarette. Neither of them was looking at the other any more. They were both standing with their backs against the counter, side-by-side, staring into space. "And this is the part where you tell me it's dangerous."

"It is."

"It's a dangerous world, sweetheart." Nick noted a flick of an ear from Reynard at the last word, but Jack didn't pause. "And I've never been one to play it safe. Especially not with the personal stuff."

Judy was squirming now. Even Nick was having to fight the urge. Jack and Reynard were off in their own little world. It didn't feel right, standing there and listening to them. In a way, it was worse than hearing them when she had torn him down in Bogo's office.

The elephant was staring holes in Reynard. Nick kept his gaze on that, rather than the soft discussion behind him.

"I was inches from saving her," Jack said, almost conversationally. "Inches. I had her in my paws when she went still. I felt Effie Perine's breathing stop, and when I find the guy who did it, I am gonna bring the whole damn world down around his ears."

There was a heavy sigh from Reynard. "Jack, I've already lost one-"

"No." The rabbit's voice was suddenly sharp. He pushed away from the countertop, snatching up his cane as he moved and wheeling around to face her. "You're not finishing that sentence. Because we both know what you were gonna say, and that is not the way this conversation is going. You lost me a long time ago, _Ariadne._ So I'm going to _tell_ you what happens next."

He exhaled heavily. The stink of his cigarette buried hers. "You're either going to go into protective custody, right here, right now-"

Judy blinked. Nick blinked. The elephant blinked, and Nick saw one of his huge fingers twitch.

"-and tell us everything you know, because you _do_ know, angel, don't bother lying to me on that, _or_ you can keep up the act and walk out that door with your elephant friend. And that's the one I expect, even if it's not the one I'm hopin' for." Jack took a deep breath. "I let you keep your lies, last time," he said, more quietly, "because they were only hurtin' me. But now, whatever you went and got mixed up in has put Effie six feet below, and I won't stand for that. So this is your choice, Rey. You take this chance, you tell us everything, and this can all be over. Or you can leave, and I'll come looking. And I will take every single lie you ever told and tear it down to the _ground."_

There was a screech of metal as the elephant stood so quickly that the table almost flipped. "You will not speak to her like that," he rumbled.

"Yeah?" said Jack, without looking away from the unmoving vixen. Nick could _hear_ the sneer in his voice. "I'm bein' _nice_ right now, Rey, because we're both hurtin'. If your new squeeze can't even handle this, I'd hate to see how he reacts when I get mad."

Reynard just sighed, removed her cigarette from her lips, and stubbed it out in the plastic ashtray at the edge of the counter. "I have nothing to tell you, Jack," she said. Her voice was quiet and sad. "I wish I did, but I don't."

Jack snorted.

"I don't know who bugged my office," she continued calmly. "I don't have any idea who would want her dead, or why. And if I did, I would tell you, because I want them dealt with just as badly as you do."

Jack bared his teeth. "Really?" he said, and there was a bit of savage triumph in his voice. "Because, you know, it's funny, but I don't remember mentioning that your office was bugged."

Nick's heart skipped a beat, and, for the briefest moment, he thought he heard a distant victory trumpet - but Reynard simply narrowed her eyes and said, "Clawhauser told me, Jack. When he called me to say that Effie was dead, and you were involved. Why do you think I'm here to begin with?"

Jack went still. She just sighed, flicked her tail through the air, and pushed away from the countertop. For the first time since she had entered the room, she took her eyes off of Jack and looked back to the elephant. "I think Mister Savage's limited reserves of patience have worn out," she said coldly, as she stepped around him and moved towards the table. "As have mine, to be honest. I think it's time we were going again."

The elephant grunted and moved to drape one thick arm over her shoulders in the same possessive manner that he had used in the office, drawing her in close against his side. As the two of them drifted towards the door, Reynard cast a look over her shoulder - not at Jack, but at Nick and Judy.

"Keep an eye on that rabbit, officers," she said. "He's got a way of getting into all the worst kinds of trouble."

And then they were gone, leaving Nick, Judy, and Jack alone once again, with only a lingering smell of sweetness in the air to show that she had ever been.

Later, with the rain pelting the windshield of the police cruiser as they sat outside Jack's apartment, watching him unlock the door and head inside, Judy said, "It hurts to watch them."

Nick sighed heavily and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, I'd say it's more awkward than painful, but yeah. It's not pleasant."

He pulled away from the curb once the door was locked. This late - so late it was better described as early - even the Marches' night life had ended. The streets were almost abandoned, and they drove in near silence for a long while.

His apartment was larger than Judy's, and closer. Neither of them said anything as they walked inside. Nothing. Nothing about foxes and rabbits. Nothing about cops and con men. Nothing about first bad days, or first times in a shootout, or first times taking a life, or first times failing to save one. Nothing about the thought of losing someone they were close to.

Later, they didn't say anything about the kiss, or any of the ones that came after.

Miles away, back in the Marches, Jack Savage stubbed out his cigarette as viciously as if it had done him a personal wrong, sat back in his chair, and stared at the wall.


	9. NINE

**NINE**

* * *

 _Dame Reynard went to the meadow where the ox was resting, and when the ox saw her he was very pleased at her arrival…_

 _"_ _My dear friend," said Dame Reynard, "go before the king, act humble, and make the gestures of somebody who is very wise. I will say that you have felt great contrition for having so long escaped the king's dominion, and then, in front of everybody, you must ask the king to pardon you for having gone to live with man… and tell the king about the affairs of men, and counsel the king to make friends with the king of men."_

 _...The ox and Dame Reynard went to the royal court. When the king and his barons saw the ox and Dame Reynard approaching, the king and everybody else recognized the ox, and they all felt very stupid at how afraid they had been of the ox; and the king was in great wonder as to how the ox could have so loud and terrifying a voice._

 _The ox went up to his lord and made the proper reverence for a king, and the king asked about his present situation…_

 _The ox begged forgiveness of the king, and the king forgave him in front of his entire court. The king asked the ox about the affairs of the king of men, and the ox replied that the snake had spoken the truth when he said that the most evil and false animal in the world is man…_

 _The king thought over carefully what the ox had said, and Dame Reynard realized that the lion was afraid of the king of men, so she said to him:_

 _"_ _My lord, the proudest animal, and the one with greater avarice than any other, is man. And therefore, if you and your council approve of the idea, it might be wise to send messengers with gifts to the king of men, messengers who on your behalf would tell him of your good will toward him and give him your presents; and in his heart the king would conceive a love for you and your people..."_

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

The Marches by day were dull and dead.

At night, there was music and drinking and smoking and dancing. The Marches had the kind of night life you got when the night life was all people had. During the day, when the hopeless little shops were open, the only people on the streets were the people with nowhere better to go.

Especially now. The rain had stopped, but the skies were still overcast, and with the Rainforest District on one side and Savannah Central on the other, caught between two ovens in the height of summer, the Marches were baking alive, steaming in the runoff from the last night's downpour. The air was damp and sticky, and every inch of clothing stuck to the wearer's fur like glue.

Jack Savage wore his coat and hat anyway.

That got him some strange looks from the two cops, but he ignored them and simply clambered into the back seat of the cruiser. His hip felt like someone was thumping on it with a rubber mallet, but he ignored that, too.

"Back to Harry Lime's," he said, as he tugged the door shut behind himself and tossed his cane onto the seat.

"Mornin' to you, too, Stripes," said Wilde cheerfully, from the passenger seat.

Jack gave him a blank look.

Wilde blinked first. "Oookay," he said. "Point taken."

Hopps sniggered, which got Wilde to look to her for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. You two never got the whole introductions thing done." He lifted a hand to point to each of them in turn. "Officer Judy Hopps, Mister Jack Savage. Mister Jack Savage, Officer Judith 'Jude the Dude' Ho-"

He caught the punch without looking.

"-Hopps," he finished.

Hopps grumbled something about hating her dad, but there was no real venom in it, and Wilde's usual, perfectly infuriating grin was still quite firmly in place.

"Just call me Judy," said Hopps. She lifted her eyes to look at him in the rear-view mirror. "And sorry for not introducing myself sooner. It's been a hectic…" She trailed off, puffed up her cheeks, and muttered, "Oh, cheese and- it's only been a day, hasn't it?"

"You and I are walking proof that a day is more than long enough, Carrots," said Wilde cheerfully. He lifted a hand and waved a small stack of blue folders in front of Jack's face. "Here. Got you a present, Mister Angry Ears."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "'Angry Ears'?"

"Yeah. Angry ears. They get all…" Wilde lifted both hands, pointed his index fingers straight up at the roof of the cruiser and waggled them back and forth for a moment. "Back me up on this one, Carrots."

"You're on your own this time, Slick," said Hopps, as the cruiser pulled away from the curb.

Jack snorted as the spring in his chest started to wind tight again. "If the two of you are done celebrating your first kiss," he grated, "maybe we can get down to business."

He didn't even have to look up from the folders. The silence was enough. He glanced at each of the names in turn. Grunted.

"How did you-" Hopps began.

"You're not good at hiding it, and I pay attention," said Jack shortly. _"He's_ better. He's always irritating. Last time I saw you, you were havin' a crisis of conscience about shooting that guy on the bridge. Didn't matter that he'd pulled first, and that's the way things go. Upset anyway." He flipped the folder open. "Emotional response. Which means emotional cure. Which means him."

The silence took on a dull, sullen quality. He could hear Hopps' fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he reached into his coat and fished around for the cigarettes.

"Well, you know," mumbled Wilde, "he's not wrong. And, honestly, I can think of worse things to be than your emotional cure-all."

"So," said Jack, ignoring this. He brought a cigarette to his lips. "Kelly and Bannion. Lynx and rat. We've at least got names. And…" Another rustle of paper as he flipped open the last folder. "...nothin' in her office."

"I wouldn't call a bunch more bugs 'nothing'," said Hopps. There was still an edge of irritation in her voice.

"I would," answered Jack, still not looking up. The clink of the lighter got Hopps to glance at him in the rear-view mirror again.

"Do you _have_ to do that in here?" she said.

For a few seconds, they held eye contact with one another. Then Jack shrugged, shut the lighter, and slipped it back into his pocket. Hopps relaxed visibly.

"Thanks."

"Uh huh." Jack tugged the cigarette from his lips and shoved it back into the pack.

There were a few more seconds of silence, except for the sound of the cruiser's wheels sluicing through the deep pools of water left in the rutted roads.

Wilde cracked first. "Hhhhoookay," he said slowly. "So obviously we're not getting off on the right foot here."

"Can't get off on the left one," Jack said dully, without thinking. "I already told you about the rhinoceros."

More silence. Then Wilde said, "Am I going crazy, or was that actually an attempt at a joke?"

One of Jack's ears twitched.

"I think it was," said Hopps. She sounded completely dumbfounded. "I think he actually just tried to make a joke."

"Just 'cause I don't do the warm fuzzies doesn't mean I've got no sense of humor," Jack said sharply. "And my mouth tends to run while I'm thinkin'."

He didn't need to look up. He could _hear_ them looking at each other.

"You're a terrible liar, Stripes," said Wilde brightly. "Good at spotting 'em, I'll admit, but leave the actual doing to the professionals."

"Are we done yet?" Jack snapped, as he shut the folder. "I'm real happy for you two lovebirds and all, but I'm still sittin' back here with a dead associate and a scheming dame on my hands. And, in case you both forgot, we're probably all sportin' targets on our backs."

"Wait, what?" Hopps sat up a little straighter behind the wheel, nose twitching. "Targets? Why?"

Jack turned, very slowly, to look at Wilde.

The fox shrugged. "Afraid I'm not following either, Stripes."

A disbelieving noise escaped Jack's throat as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You two are joking, right? I mean, first rabbit cop. First fox. I figured you'd be _sharp."_

"Yes, point taken, we're idiots." Hopps' nostrils flared as she said it. "Can you get to the part where you explain why we have targets on us? We're just starting our investigation."

Jack snorted. "So was Effie."

"Yes, but…" Hopps frowned. "She must have found something. Or maybe it wasn't connected at all."

"She didn't find anything," said Jack, turning his attention back to the folders. "And it was connected."

Hopps sounded as exasperated as he felt. "How do you know? The forensics team have only just started going through Miss Reynard's offices."

"And they won't find anything, either," answered Jack calmly. "Because, other than the bugs, there's nothin' to find. And before you cut me off again, demandin' to know how I know, lemme say this: I might not have made it through the academy, but I ain't dumb. I know Ariadne. And I knew Effie. And I know people."

He shuffled the paltry little stack of papers in the folder marked "BANNION". He was very careful to keep his voice at the same calm, level, disinterested monotone as he spoke. "Ariadne's mixed up in this," he went on. "But she's smart, and she's good at covering her tracks. Always has been. There won't be anything in the office but paperwork, and you wouldn't find anything in that if you went over it with a fine-tooth. Effie would've found it before you anyway, 'cause she's the one who filled most of it out to begin with, and she got nothing. Even if it was in the stuff Ariadne filed herself, she'd've found it. But she didn't. So it wasn't there. Which means the only thing _to_ find was the bug. Which means she wasn't killed for finding. She was killed for looking."

"That's quite an assumption," muttered Hopps, but she sounded more thoughtful than dismissive now.

"Not an assumption," said Jack. "The guys that were after her chased her across half Savannah Central, and they would've _kept_ chasin' her into the Marches, even though they knew the cops were on the way. That means desperate. Wilde noticed that before I did."

There was a crooked grin and a laugh from the fox, but neither of them interrupted this time.

"So Effie didn't find anything, and there wasn't even anything _to_ find," he continued. "But somebody'd bugged Ariadne's office, and knew it was being searched soon enough to get three desperate, near-suicidal lunkheads down there to knife her."

"Pretty drastic," said Wilde. "Why, though? If there was nothing to find, why kill her? It doesn't make any sense. There's no motive."

Jack shook his head and picked up the photograph in the folder. Small rat, overweight, early twenties, scruffy. One eye nearly swollen shut. Mug shot. "No," he said. "There's a perfect motive."

"For killing someone who hadn't done anything?" said Hopps. Jack could hear the skepticism bleeding back into her voice. "Who _couldn't_ have done anything? What?"

"Paranoia." He set the photo down again and shut the folder. "Somebody panicked."

Hopps had both eyebrows raised now. He could see her expression in the mirror, watch her rolling the thought around the inside of her head. She didn't believe him, but she was still looking. Good. She had that much brain, at least.

"That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?" she said, after a while. "Panicking over an impossibility?"

"No." Jack suppressed the urge to reach for his cigarettes again. He felt twitchy, irritable. He knew it was bleeding out, coloring his voice, but he'd been working on the edge for too long. Hadn't slept. Hadn't really eaten. Needed a cigarette. Needed a drink.

Hadn't even started, and he was already run ragged.

It was only when Hopps asked "Why not?" that he realized he'd gone silent. He cursed himself inwardly, shifted on the cushion, and scowled at the back of Wilde's seat.

"Because people are stupid, easily busted up little machines," he said. There was more anger in his voice than he'd intended, and he saw the twitch in both of them. Kept going anyway. "There was nothin' to find. But that doesn't mean somebody didn't get scared at the thought of her looking. Somebody's been watchin' that office close for a while, and the _moment_ somebody went snooping, they jumped out of their skin. Paranoia, plain and simple."

More silence. This time, it was less sullen and heated. He took the moment to remove his hat and run a paw through his fur. Breathe slowly, through the nose. Hold for the count. Release.

Eventually, Wilde said, "Okay. So us just looking makes us targets, too. I can buy that. But if it really was just panic, and there's nothing in the office to find, that doesn't leave us much to go on. There's nothing much in Bannion's or Kelly's file, beyond the usual history for street toughs. Unless there's some way of tracing the bugs, or we feel like tracking down Reynard again, we're stuck looking for the other rat."

Jack shut his eyes and made a noise in the back of his throat. "Which is why," he said, "we're going to Harry Lime's."

Harry Lime's Place, by day, died as much as the rest of the Marches. The only people there were the type that were just going through the motions, buying the same lunches they had every day for the past ten, twenty, thirty years because there was nothing better to do. They sat at the booths in the sweltering heat, staring through the windows at the grey sky outside, and waited out their lives.

A handful of them looked around when Jack stepped in. The sight of the two cops trailing him earned one or two stares, but they were the listless, vaguely disinterested kind you got when the threat of the law held no real fear in the eyes of the watcher.

There was a slight dip in the music, for a moment. Because there _was_ still music, even though it had a distinctly rote, dry feel to it. Amateur night had been clumsy and stumbling, but at least it had some life. This was the kind of canned stuff you brought out when you couldn't find the spark for real jazz any more. When you hadn't been able to find it for so long that you weren't even sure if you'd ever felt it to begin with.

"So," said Wilde. "Who are we looking for?"

Jack felt his hand slip into a pocket of his suit - he'd left the coat in the cruiser, though he had been forced to give in and take the cane - and draw out the cigarettes again. Funny. He hadn't even really thought about it. Two years clean, and it was still as easy as breathing.

"Musicians," he said, as he lit up and flipped the lighter shut. "But you two better just find a table and sit down for a bit. People here don't like talkin' to cops."

"Wait." Hopps stepped past him and turned to frown deeply at his cigarette. "So we're just supposed to let you do the interviewing without us even _listening?"_

"If you want anything done, that's the way it's gotta be," said Jack levelly. He tapped the end of his cane against the floorboards and did his best to keep the spring from creaking.

Hopps folded both arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. "Sorry, Mister Savage," she said, "but that's not how this works. This is a police investigation. We need to hear what's going on. You are assisting us, not the other way around."

Smoke rolled past Jack's lips as his eyes searched her face. After a while, he said, voice quiet and level, "Officer Hopps. You don't like me much, and frankly, I don't blame you. I'm not known for my friendly disposition. And, since I'm bein' honest here, I don't like you much either, though that's mostly because there's about three people in the entire city that I actually do like, and one of 'em just got a knife in the kidneys."

He saw her open her mouth to respond, but raised his free hand to stop her and continued, "But this, right here, ain't personal. This ain't me trying to take over this investigation. Now, we might not be friends, but I'm a professional as much as you. And the only way we're gettin' any information here is if these guys think they're talkin' to Jack Savage, local boy, kind of surly, never been the same since that dame walked out on him, but we _know_ him, right? Not the two most famous cops in the city."

Hopps really wasn't good at hiding herself. He could see every individual emotion as they snapped across her face in quick succession. Irritation, realization, frustration, worry. Even her foot gave her away, thumping rapidly on the floor as she tried to find a way through.

Both of them blinked in unison as a red-furred paw settled on their shoulders.

"All right," said Wilde. "So they won't talk to honest cops. How about a dishonest one?"

Jack gave a harsh little laugh and grinned crookedly. "That," he said, "I just might be able to work with."

Holly Mason and the Three Blind Mice were a regular fixture at Harry Lime's. Every day and every night where the stage wasn't occupied by amateurs, you got Holly Mason and his accompaniment. There was a little dais towards the back of the stage where the rodents had set up their instruments: a miniature drum set, a tiny little upright bass, a microphone, and Mason's own beaten, scratched piano.

The drums were untouched at the moment. The old, gray mouse that usually sat there was instead holding a horn, while the skinny, dust-colored lady that supplied the group's somewhat creaky vocals swayed her way through something slow and smoky and boiling as the streets outside.

Mason himself, a bookish-looking, skinny rat in a threadbare suit, was sitting at the piano and looking rather bored. He glanced up as Jack approached, look back down for a moment, then did a double-take.

"Aw, Jack," he said, in a voice so low and gravelly that Wilde actually stopped in his tracks for a moment, "now what did I do to have you bringin' the cops down on me?"

"Relax, Holly." Jack seized one of the performer's chairs from the stage proper, thunked it down by the dais, and lowered himself into it. Like this, he was just slightly above eye level for the rodents. The singer and the trumpet player didn't pause. The bassist just watched the two new arrivals with the kind of expression one would wear on spotting a vaguely interesting roadside attraction during a long road trip. "This is Nick Wilde. Friend of mine."

He glanced up at the fox, then raised an eyebrow. Wilde was standing stock still, with both eyes wide as he stared down at the stage.

"Nick?"

"No way," said Wilde. He sounded utterly disbelieving. "No _way._ "

Gradually, the force of his stare got even the singing mouse to fall silent. The entire band peered up at the fox, apparently uncertain of whether or not to be worried.

Holly Mason scratched the underside of his chin. "Friend, huh? Something wrong with his head?"

"You're _actually_ Holly Mason!" Wilde's voice was loud enough that, for a moment, every eye in the restaurant turned to stare. Jack could see Hopps' ears come up, swiveling madly, to listen in, but Wilde was in a world of his own. "I mean, the actual, for-real _Holly Mason._ What? How- what are you doing _here?"_

Mason made a strange face and twitched his nose up at Wilde. "Light entertainment," he said. "Tuesday through Saturday, noon to midnight."

"No, I mean-" Wilde set a paw on either side of the little dais and leaned in towards the piano, which got a few more skeptical looks from the rest of the band "-I just - wow. I grew up on your old albums. My dad loved your stuff. I've still got his old vinyls. I mean, I just didn't think I'd ever meet you _anywhere_ , let alone _here."_

Jack saw the slight shift in the way Mason sat, saw the little twitch in his tail. Saw him fight down the barest beginnings of a smile.

"Yeah, well," he ground out in his gravel-pit voice, "times change, kid. We've been here almost ten years, now. Stop on by and have a listen some time."

"Oh, I will, sir." Wilde was almost babbling. "I absolutely will. I-"

"Tell you what, Nick," said Jack. "Why don't you run up to the bar, tell 'em you want a round of drinks for the band. Then we can talk about autographs. And other things."

Wilde blinked. All at once, he seemed to remember who he was and what he was doing. The look of absolute embarrassment on his face was so pure that Jack had half an urge to have it framed and hung up in a museum somewhere.

"Yyyyes," he said. "Right. Of course." He straightened up, coughed, and clapped his hands together sharply. "Drinks. Comin' right up." And he swiveled on a hell to stride robotically away.

Mason propped up one tiny elbow on the edge of the piano. "Well, folks, looks like we got a bona-fide _fan_ on our hands. That ain't happened in a while. Takes me back."

Tiny teeth gleamed in the light as he grinned. Inwardly, Jack steamed with relief. He allowed himself a crooked little smile.

"Yeah, well," he said, as he turned to prop up an elbow on the dais, "afraid I didn't bring him here just to introduce him to a childhood hero. This ain't a happy visit, Holly."

"Never is," rasped the rat. He turned and slid the cover over the piano keys back, cracked his knuckles, and tapped out a few notes. "You in the wrong business for happy, Jack. Jes' tell me what it is you want. And if your cop friend is here to arrest me, I'm afraid even that stupid grin of his isn't gonna win him much goodwill."

"Relax. He doesn't know, I'm not gonna tell him, and he's not in a position to judge." Jack drummed his fingers on the dais, watching Wilde's back as the fox stood at the bar and fished around for his wallet. "Old con man. Only put on the uniform 'cause of a rabbit he met."

Mason's ears stood up. "That right?" he said, sounding amused. "You got a real thing for foxes, Jack. Might want to watch yourself. Unless you _wanna_ get bit."

Jack gave him a look.

"Aw, relax. I'm only teasin'." There were another few notes from the piano. This time, the bassist picked it up, and a moment later, the horn sounded out again. "So what's this unhappy visit got you bringin' cops around for?"

"Effie's dead."

The music crashed. In the silence, Mason's tail twitched.

"That's a real shame," he said eventually. "Class act, Miss Perine. Nice lady, when she wasn't tearin' your head off."

His fingers danced over the keys again, and the tune came back to life. "You found out who done it yet?"

"That's what I'm here for." Jack glanced up again as Wilde came walking back, a tiny tray balanced carefully on the ends of his fingers. "We need to find the guy that knifed her. A rat."

"Now, how many times I gotta tell you, Jack?" Mason sounded more amused than anything else. "Not all us rats know each other. There's a hell of a lot of us down there. Bring that tray down here, boy. I'm parched."

"You got it," said Wilde brightly. There was a soft clinking of glasses as the band members stepped forward to pick up their glasses. Tiny things, with barely anything in them at all. They'd hardly qualify as a sip for anyone else.

Jack picked up one of the two more normal-sized glasses and nodded to Wilde. "Effie," he said. There was an answering series of murmurs from the rest.

For the second time in two days, he toasted. Drank. Realized the mistake as he sipped. How long, since he last had an actual drink? A year, at least. Year and a half.

He set the glass down. Reset himself.

"I know you don't know 'em all," he said. Nothing showed in his voice. Good. "But you _would_ know where a rat in need of some under-the-table knife work would go around here." He jerked a thumb towards Wilde. "We were there when it happened. Nick here got his claws in one of the boys goin' for her, but he limped off. The other two bit it, so… gotta ask you."

Mason didn't answer immediately. He eyed Jack askance for a moment, then raised his glass to his muzzle and downed the rest in one massive gulp. Then he smacked his lips and asked, "What happened with you an' Rey, Jack?"

Jack frowned, very slightly. "What's my personal life got to do with it?"

"Oh, come on, Jack." Mason sighed and set his fingers on the keys again. "You think she didn't come down here, too? Tol' me to tell _you_ to shove off."

The frown slipped out of his grasp. Became a scowl. Mason ignored it and resumed playing.

"Now, you two been here enough times," he said thoughtfully. "Seen the way you two used to dance. Only two in this whole worthless dump who actually could, even if you got a bum leg. Couldn't step proper to save your life, but you tried. And you actually cared about the music, which is more'n I can say for most." He inclined his head towards Wilde. "Present company excepted. So when she turns up this morning, tells me you'll be along and I got to send you on your way with nothin', for your own protection, and she's _right…_ well."

A long, low run, minor key. Bitter like black coffee. "Last I heard," the rat went on, almost casually, "you two hated each other's guts. So she turns up all concerned, and you turn up chasin' her… I'm a little curious. An' _more_ than a little worried, though I ain't sure who for yet."

Jack's fingers were drumming on the dais beside the piano. He stopped them.

"You know, Holly," he said, "I'm startin' to think I don't know myself."

Mason grunted and shrugged. He was slipping back into the music. The little run had become a melody, and the bassist was picking it up. It went on like that for a few measures, with Mason staring off into space, tail sliding slowly through the air in time with the rhythm in his head. Then:

"If it weren't for Effie, I'd've turned you off. But I liked that mouse. She couldn't dance, but she dressed nice and she made good conversation. So ya get this one for free, Jack. There's a few places he could've gone, but with you an' Rey involved…" He bared his teeth. It wasn't a grin. "The Dooryard. Down on Kapok. And when you find Rey, tell 'er a man deserves to know when there's been a death."

"So did we get a name?"

Hopps was looking surprisingly perky as they made their way back to her table. She'd ordered herself a salad, and Jack was mildly surprised to see a second one sitting beside it, along with a fish sandwich for Wilde. The files from the cruiser were spread out on the tabletop in front of her.

"No names," said Wilde, as he slipped into the booth beside her. "But I _did_ finally find a restaurant. You would not _believe_ who plays here."

"Try me." She slid the salad across the table, towards Jack, and pushed the sandwich plate over in front of Wilde.

He ignored it, and instead raised both hands as he said, in a voice like a parent dragging out the biggest birthday present from behind the pile, "Holly Mason. Holly Mason actually _plays here_ , Carrots! The actual Holly Mason!"

Jack snorted and lowered himself onto the seat across from them. "I thought that was an act," he said. "I was about to start praising your improv. Could have almost been one of Ariadne's routines."

He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice, but Wilde still looked more shocked than anything. "What?" he said. "Of course not. Holly Mason _was_ my childhood. _Salt Whiskey_ was my dad's favorite album _ever_."

"Never heard of him," said Hopps.

 _"_ _What?"_ Now Wilde actually did look offended. Jack kept silent and simply took a bite of his salad, trying to ignore the taste of alcohol still on his tongue.

"Who is he?"

"I can't-" Wilde stopped himself and ran a paw over the top of his head. "Okay, no, I actually can believe that you've never heard of him, because of the whole country bunny thing. They probably don't have real music out in the sticks."

"Hey. Watch it, Slick," said Hopps. "I'm not the one going completely insane over a literal twelve-inch pianist."

Wilde gaped at her for a moment, then opened and shut his mouth a few times as the world failed to come. He waved his hands in a helpless failure of self-expression, then looked to Jack. "Help me out here, Stripes."

Jack swallowed his mouthful of salad. "Jazz musician," he said flatly. "Mildly popular about twenty years back. Two albums, minor successes."

"Yeah, but they _should_ have been huge," said Wilde. "The way he could play that piano… man. And whenever he actually did the singing himself, it just grabbed you by the- the- pfah." He gave up.

Hopps looked him up and down for a moment, trying and failing to fight the smile. "Uh huh," she said. "So what's he doing here?"

"Not a clue." Wilde shook his head and slumped back against the cushions. "He shouldn't be. He deserves better than playing dailies in this place."

Something twanged in Jack's chest. "People don't get what they deserve," he said. There was rust in his voice. "They get what they're given. And that ain't the same thing."

Both of the cops gave him curious looks. He grit his teeth for a moment, trying to force the words back down, but when the hiss forced its way across his tongue, he knew that he had lost, and raised both paws to run them over his face.

"You two ever heard of Eda Hare?"

Wilde flicked an ear. "Obviously."

"I haven't," said Hopps.

"That's because you're an uncultured country bunny, Carrots," answered the fox, with a crooked grin. "Used to be a big musical star. The biggest. She could dance like you would not _believe."_

"Uh huh," said Jack. "And it took her about twenty different casting agencies to actually land a part. Most incredible dancer you'd ever see-" he waved a paw slowly through the air "-and she got thrown out of one with a note that said 'can't sing, can't act, can dance _a little'."_

Hopps laughed. Jack didn't. The sound of it jangled, hard and brittle, in his ears.

"People don't get what they deserve," he muttered. "They get whatever luck feels like handin' 'em. The greatest musician who ever lived probably died in a gutter somewhere with people laughin' at him and his old, busted guitar."

He shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Doesn't matter what he deserved," he finished quietly. "Doesn't matter what I deserve. Or you deserve. Or Effie deserved. You get what the dice give you, whether that's a badge and a uniform and a partner or a busted leg and an empty apartment. And that's it. That's where it stops."

He felt hollow. Reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, tossed a few bills onto the table. "For the salad," he said flatly. "Now come on. We got a lead. Let's get out of here before the thunder comes rollin' in again."

The end of his cane thumped dully on the floorboards as he stood and limped off towards the door, teeth clenched, hating himself every step of the way.

It was almost five minutes before either of the cops emerged to join him by the cruiser. He could see them through the window, talking quietly, as the rain started up again. It was still slow, just a handful of drops, but the sky overhead was so dark that it looked bruised. There would be more, very soon.

When Wilde and Hopps did come back out, it was Wilde who stepped around to the driver's side door, while his partner stepped up in front of Jack, wearing an expression of mingled worry and confusion.

"Mister Savage-"

"Jack," said Jack. "It's just Jack."

"Jack, then." She sighed. "Nick says you wanted to be a cop."

"That's right." He nodded once, curtly, and took another drag on his cigarette. He was going to run out soon. Should probably just buy a full carton.

"Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

"Dunno yet," said Jack. "Ask, and I'll figure out whether or not I mind answerin'."

Hopps took a breath. _"Why?"_

Jack gave a harsh little bark of a laugh. "Really?" he said. "Is that all?"

"It's…" Hopps' hands clenched and unclenched by her sides. "Important. I think. I don't know." She bit her lower lip and added, in pleading tones, "Please. I just want to understand."

He watched her for a moment. Embarrassed, confused, squirming a bit under his gaze. But not backing down. Eventually, he snorted and flicked his cigarette aside, into a puddle.

"Because," he said, "there should be at least one of 'em that gives half a damn about the Marches."

She relaxed. There was even a hint of a smile. "Nick _said_ you cared more than you show."

"Yeah," he said. Couldn't keep the acid entirely out of his voice. "I'm a real altruist, me. Now, are we done here? Can we get movin' again? We still got a case to solve. And it's startin' to rain again."

"Of course." She tugged open the door of the cruiser, but flashed a genuine grin at him before slipping inside. "And thanks, by the way. For helping us. We got off on the wrong foot, but… I mean, well, it's not the first time I've made a friend this way."

He stared at her blankly until the grin faded, and she drummed her fingers on the roof of the car, looking embarrassed. "Right," she said. "Maybe a bit early for that. Sorry."

And she ducked inside.

When he slid back into the rear of the cruiser, it was to find the stack of folders being offered to him again. "Oh, yeah," Hopps said. "I made some calls while you two were talking with Mister Mason. And I found out something about Kelly and Bannion."

Jack grunted and took the files out of her hands. "And what's that?"

"Well, you won't find it in there, because that's just arrest records," she said. "But, wouldn't you know it, in the _court_ records, there's something _very_ interesting. Turns out both of our hit men hired the same attorney when they got brought in on other charges."

Wilde gave her a sidelong look. "Don't tell me," he said. "Our old friend Reynard, right?"

"Who else?" said Hopps. She was practically bouncing in her seat now. "And they both got off with community service, which is, hah, pretty weird, considering that they're both repeat offenders. _With_ multiple violent felonies."

"Huh." Wilde flipped on the windshield wipers as the rain started to come down again. "Must be a pretty impressive attorney." He glanced up at the rear-view and caught Jack's eye. "What was that you said about her meeting with old clients?"

Jack just grunted and looked away.

"It all just seems to keep coming back to her, though," said Hopps. "Over and over. Her office is bugged. Two of her old clients have turned up missing. Two _more_ turn up as hit men, aimed at her secretary. And her old… boyfriend… is there as well. She turns up in Chief Bogo's office just to try and keep him from sticking his nose in, _and_ she shows up at the station _again_ right after it happens just to try and do it again."

"She went to his apartment the night before, too," added Wilde. "And she'd talked to Mason before we got there."

"Exactly," said Hopps. "It's like the whole world revolves around her or something."

Jack snorted, leaned back against the seat, and shut his eyes. "It always did, Officer."

There was a thoughtful silence from the front. Eventually, Hopps said, "I know it was her office that was bugged, and a friend of hers that was killed, but…"

"She's looking pretty suspicious," Wilde finished for her.

"Ariadne didn't kill Effie," said Jack, without opening his eyes.

"How can you be sure?" Hopps' voice. Not dismissive, exactly, but excited. Like a dog on the chase. Determined not to give up the scent.

Jack opened his eyes and looked up. She was staring at him over the back of her seat.

He sat up.

"Because I know her," he said. "Even if I thought she was cold enough to have a friend knifed just for bein' worried about her, even if I thought I misjudged her that bad - and I didn't - I _know_ she ain't the panickin' type. She ain't that sloppy."

"But she's obviously involved somehow," Hopps said.

"Of course she's involved." More sharpness than he'd intended. Again. Too much stress, not enough sleep. He stopped himself, took a breath. Frowned. Looked away from Hopps' face. "I just said I know she didn't have Effie killed," he muttered. "That doesn't mean it wasn't her _fault."_

Hopps chewed on her lower lip for a moment before turning and sliding back down onto her seat. "I just think it's important not to rule anything out yet."

Jack sighed and shut his eyes again. He'd heard the unspoken accusation there. The mingled pity and frustration.

She thought he was being played.

He wished he could have denied it, but as they drove on and the rain started to beat harder on the windows, it was all he could do to fight down the reply in his throat.

 _Imagine if they asked you to bring_ him _in._


	10. TEN

**TEN**

* * *

 _The king and his council thought Dame Reynard's suggestion a good one, all except for the rooster, who was against it, saying:_

 _"_ _In a certain land Strength and Cunning were disputing before a king. Strength said that she had natural dominion over Cunning, and Cunning said it was the other way around. The king wanted to know which should have dominion over the other, and he arranged for them to fight, in which fight Cunning conquered and overcame Strength. And this is why, my lord king," said the rooster, "if you enter into friendship with the king of men, and send him messengers, and he sends you his messengers, those messengers will have knowledge with respect to your person and your barons, so that no stratagem or art will suffice to defend you against the king of men, who fights with art and stratagem, vanquishing all those who fight by strength alone, without art and cunning."_

 _On the other hand, Dame Reynard maintained that God does what He does by power, with no art or cunning, and hence it is natural that those who fight with weapons similar to God's must be more powerful in battle than those who fight with weapons dissimilar to God's._

 _The lion was very pleased with what Dame Reynard had said, and he wanted at all costs to send presents and messengers to the king of men…_

 _...and he sent the lynx and the leopard as messengers, and the dog and cat as presents. And when the messengers had left the court, the king made the ox his chamberlain and Dame Reynard was given the post the dog had held._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

The Dooryard turned out to be one of the Marches' many attempts to answer its housing problems.

Zootopia was choked with mammals of all sizes. Even in the higher-income areas of the city, houses and apartments were crammed together side-to-side and filled to the bursting point. Judy's shoebox apartment wasn't much to look at, but it wasn't too far below standard for a single rabbit living alone. Nick's house wasn't much, but it was at least _his._

It was, at least, not the Dooryard.

It had originally just been another chunk of the Marches, but the ever-increasing population demanded more and more space from the already overcrowded streets. Someone - probably multiple someones, all without any real direction or coordination or even real knowledge of how construction worked - had come in and done what the citizens of the Marches always did.

They'd made do.

The Dooryard thrust out of the fog like a great, misshapen hand with a dozen broken fingers, reaching desperately for the sky.

It was obviously never meant to be all one unit. Someone had simply taken whatever various buildings had originally been there and stitched them up. They'd walled up a few blocks of what used to be shops and shacks and speakeasies, none of them the same height, none of them ever intended for prolonged habitation, and called it a day. The end result was a broad stretch of wall, right across the streets of the Marches - and, behind it, at least a half-dozen unidentifiable, crazily off-balance shapes that looked like an insane parody of the downtown skyline.

In the shadows and the rain and the orange glare of the sodium lamps, Nick Wilde shivered under his worthless poncho and tried to shake some of the water out of his tail.

They'd given up on the cruiser about a mile and a half back. Now, the three of them stood under an awning in front of a hole-in-the-wall diner whose flickering sign declared it to be RENO'S, and Nick was slowly realizing that his umbrella wasn't any more use than the cruiser.

It wasn't even three, and already the clouds were choking any sign of daylight out of the air. The storm had given them a few hours' respite, but the marshes under their feet were still worryingly swollen, reaching nearly all the way up to the rickety wooden foot paths that they were standing on.

Down here, near the Canal District, the streets wound around and over the rivers. They'd needed bridges, but bridges needed money. So they'd ended up with old, crumbling stone things, or creaky iron slabs, or - most commonly - the old, half-rotten wooden things that they were standing on now. The wood itself was slick and treacherous in the rain, and had Nick feeling unsteady even standing still.

There was fog rising off the water. It mingled with the smoke curling out from beneath the brim of Jack's hat, making it look as though the rabbit had filled the whole world with gray. How he managed to keep the ragged dog-end lit in this downpour, Nick had no idea.

"So," he said, after a while. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

"Exits." Jack's voice was clipped and sharp against the dullness of the rain. "I got the front entrance, a possible side door back around… eh, call it Timor Street, and then…" He inclined his head towards the water. "Probably a dock, somewhere below. Best to know your way out."

"That's what I like about you, Stripes," said Nick cheerfully. "Always the optimist."

Neither of the rabbits cracked a smile.

"People actually _live_ there?" Judy's voice was utterly disbelieving as she stared up at one of the looming shapes. "That can't be safe. It looks like it could collapse at any second."

"No money," grunted Jack. "No options. You take what you can get."

"It _can't_ have passed code."

"It didn't." Jack shoved his right hand into a pocket of his coat, gripped his cane tighter, and lurched forward.

Nick made to follow him, but Judy caught his paw in hers and tugged sharply. He turned to tell her to keep up, but the look on her face stopped him.

"What is it, Carrots?" he whispered. Behind him, he heard Jack's cane stop as the rabbit ground to a halt on the walkway, listening.

She reached up and tugged back the hood of her poncho, letting her ears come up. She was instantly soaked to the skin, but she didn't seem to notice.. "It's hard to tell," she murmured back, as her ears started to swivel. "The rain's the loudest thing out here. But I keep hearing footsteps."

He felt his own ears try to come up. "You think we're being followed?" He glanced around, eyes flickering over the handful of lights in the rain. "I mean, it's _technically_ two o' clock in the afternoon. People are allowed to walk around."

She nodded, still concentrating. "But they wouldn't, in this." She tugged her hood up again, raised a paw, and tried to wipe some of the rainwater out of her face. "And after what _you_ said-" she peered around him, towards Jack "-about having targets on us, I don't feel like taking that gamble."

"Bad odds, yeah," said Jack.

"All right," said Nick, straightening up. Another sweep of the streets, looking, this time, for any easy exit. Places to hide. "So what do you think? Do we make a run for it, or try to find somewhere to-"

"Iiiiii _think_ we call it in," said Judy, with a bit of a smile.

Nick blinked and looked down to her again. She was holding her radio in one paw.

"Oh," he said. "Right. We can do that."

She grinned, shook her head, and turned away. A moment later, the radio crackled in her hand.

When it was done, and Judy was shoving her radio back into her belt clip, she said, "Precinct Two's got some officers doing traffic a few blocks out. If we do get into trouble, they'll be here in ten minutes." She took a deep breath. "You thinking-"

"-that ten minutes is probably too long? Yeah," Nick finished for her. He looked back over his shoulder, towards the Dooryard, and sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "But if we wait-"

"-then our assassin is probably gone." Judy nodded.

They looked at each other.

"We're actually going to do this, aren't we," said Nick gloomily. It wasn't a question.

Judy grinned. "Well, I mean… we've done stupider."

"Point." He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "Well, then. Shall we?"

"Yeah," Jack cut in. "We shall. I ain't runnin' away from this. Not this time. I ain't givin' her the satisfaction."

Nick turned. "Of what? Seeing you _not_ do the stupid, dangerous thing?"

His voice was teasing, but Jack just scowled, turned, and lurched off into the fog again. Nick gave Judy a sidelong look. She frowned after Jack for a moment, then shrugged, stepped in close against his side, and gave him a quick squeeze before bounding off after Jack.

The entrance to the Dooryard was… strange.

It _had_ an entrance, for one. That was unusual all on its own. Even in the more upscale parts of Zootopia, gated communities weren't a common thing.

And those that _did_ exist generally looked friendlier than the Dooryard. They didn't have huge, blank, gray walls topped with barbed wire. Their main entrances didn't have a double thickness of chain-link fencing set over them, with a battered old keycard scanner bolted to the wall beside it.

The only other obvious way of getting the fence open was a small gray shack set against the wall on one side of the gate. It put Nick in mind of a ticket vendor's booth at a particularly depressing carnival. The kind where the teacups were always broken, and the clowns never smiled for real.

There was a rhino in it, separated from them by a thick pane of glass with a small grille set into it for speaking through, slouched in a chair far too small for someone of its massive bulk and reading a magazine. It glanced up as Jack limped towards it through the rain. Looked down to the magazine. Looked back up. Saw the badges. Grunted. Sat up.

Jack glanced back at them over his shoulder and jerked his head towards the glass.

Judy moved first. She gripped her hood with both paws and stepped forward, splashing through the growing puddles on the cobbles. It was, at least, solid ground here. No more rickety bridges. "Hey there," she said brightly. "Officers Hopps and Wilde, ZPD. We're looking for somebody."

The rhino looked down at her. Then further down. Then it sat back and grunted, once. When it spoke, its voice came through the grille in the glass as a muffled, tectonic buzz. "Who?"

"A doctor," said Nick. "One of the, uh, ratty persuasion."

"Try a hospital," rumbled the rhino.

"Well, the one we're looking for probably doesn't work in an actual hospital," Judy said. "Is there anyone here who does… emergency treatments? That sort of thing?"

"No."

Judy gave him a sidelong, slightly worried look, but Nick's mouth was already opening. He could feel the old, sly, con-man wheels turning in his head again. It was depressingly easy. There might as well have been a big, flashing button to push.

"Look, buddy." He leaned against the corner of the booth, hunching forward to try and keep the rain off of his face. "You've got an intercom back there that rings up the boss, yeah? The guy that owns this place?"

The rhino's head turned like a barge.

"So why don't you just press it," said Nick smoothly, "and tell them that someone's here to see Reynard? And we'll get on about our business and be out of your… horn."

He heard Jack make a noise in the back of his throat behind them, but didn't turn away. Eye contact. Eye contact was important.

The rhino gave him the same dully appraising look he'd given Judy. Then, very slowly, he shifted in the seat, slapped one massive hand over the grille to shut out the sound, and pressed a button behind the counter.

"Risky," said Jack.

They turned to look back at him. His ears were up again, and smoke was puffing out of his nostrils like a steam vent.

"Yeah, but we don't have a name, and he didn't seem to be about to let us in," Wilde hissed. "Besides. It's been… what, five minutes since she turned up? We're due for another visit. Not a huge gamble."

"Not what I meant." Jack's ears were twitching again, swiveling the same way Judy's had, as if straining to catch every sound possible. "I'm pretty sure she's here. I just don't know if it's a good idea to let her know that." He shrugged. "Or whoever else is with her."

There was a grumble as the rhino lowered its hand and pressed another button. There was a loud buzz, followed by a series of rapid-fire, metallic clinks as the gate began to grind ponderously aside.

"One two one Polhaus," it grunted. "Boss is waiting."

"Thank you, sir. You've been very helpful." Nick gave a little mock salute as he turned to stroll towards the door.

The two rabbits fell in on either side of him. _"Really_ not sure I like this," hissed Judy, as they stepped through the gateway.

"You'd be crazy if you did, doll," said Jack. "I'd hope even the most wide-eyed country bunny could tell that walkin' into a fortress to try and catch a murderer isn't likely to _increase_ your life expectancy."

"What'd I tell you about this guy, Carrots?" said Nick brightly, as he stepped up from behind them and draped one poncho-covered arm over each rabbit's shoulders.

"That he's a surly-"

"Mister Bright Side, this one," Nick continued happily. "Always finding the sunshine in the storm clouds. Not at all the kind of guy who constantly dwells on the negatives like a hamster gnawing on an old pawpsicle stick. Uh uh. Not my buddy Jack Savage. He definitely isn't the type to make me repeat the same point twice in five minutes just so he'll stop talking like he's _trying_ to make us all wet ourselves in terror."

Jack shrugged out of Nick's grip and walked his strange, crippled-spider walk up onto the curb. "Yeah, that's me," he said, without turning around. "Happiest rabbit alive. Case in point: haven't got a clue where Polhaus is, but hey." He turns to grin a harsh little grin at the pair of them. "At least we've got quite the view while we look."

He waved a hand towards the Dooryard, laughed once, then turned and set off down the street.

Because that's what it was. A street. Or what had been one once, anyway. The harsh, orange glow of the sodium lamps, whose buzzing was becoming depressingly familiar to Nick, stretched away into the gloom in every direction.

The Dooryard had been part of the Marches proper, once. It had been just another part of the city. The buildings were all still there, too, but they had been… changed. A few had been partially deconstructed, had entire wings simply sliced off and the open wounds boarded over, but most had gotten the opposite treatment. Directly ahead of them, what had once been a bar of some kind had been essentially stapled to a warehouse to make a sort of ersatz apartment complex.

The street signs were still there. Technically, so were the streets themselves. It was just that the streets no longer followed the same layout that they had before.

Alleys that had existed previously had vanished into the chaotic sprawl. Other, newer ones had come up in all the wrong places, where buildings should have been, but weren't. Windows stared out at blank walls. Doors were everywhere, whether they should have been or not. Entire buildings simply seemed to _exist,_ without any rhyme or reason to their placement; one of the huge, towering things that Nick had seen from the outside appeared to be a bell tower of some kind, simply slapped down next to what had once been an all-night seafood takeaway.

"This place is insane," Judy muttered.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Yep," he agreed. "But if it's this or homeless…"

"Yeah." They set off, in unison, after Jack. Even with his head start, he was less than half a block away. The gutters were overflowing. The streets themselves were nearly rivers. Cane or not, Jack was struggling.

"I just don't get how it even got built in the first place," Judy went on. Ahead, there was music drifting from an open window. For a moment, Nick wondered why anyone would leave their home open to this weather, and then realized that it probably just didn't shut properly.

"Well," he said, "I mean… it's like Jack said. He's a grump, but he's right. No one really watches the Marches. No one _cares_ what happens down here."

"And even if they did," said Jack sharply, as they drew up behind him, "it'd take a hell of a lot more than a few cops to stop things like this." He swung out with his cane and smacked it against a bit of patchwork repair on the side of one not-house.

"It's not _safe,_ though," said Judy, a bit of defiance entering her voice. "You can't just slap something like this together and-"

Jack cut her off. "Yeah," he said, as he paused to peer around at another nonsensical intersection. "You can. And that's exactly what they did. 'Cause all you got to do is realize that the guys responsible for putting this together are the same kind of guys that end up living here, and they'll take any job. If the boss doesn't care about them using the right materials or following every regulation, well, they don't mind. Cheaper. Easier. Faster. And once it's up, and people have moved in… well. You could shut it down, but then what? Where are all these people gonna go?"

He sighed and stopped for a moment, under an awning, and peered up at the street sign under the flickering lights ahead. "And that's without gettin' into the whole court deal," he said. "The thing is, once it's done, it's done, and undoing it's more trouble than it's worth, no matter how many badges you bring in. Because 'cop' ain't the same thing as 'hero'. Cops are people just like anybody else. It's all just people." He sounded very, very tired. "That's the other half. I told you about luck already. This is the other side. Luck and people, and half the time there's no difference."

He flicked the ragged dog-end of his cigarette into a puddle and lurched off around the corner. "Come on," he said, without looking back.

Nick could hear Judy's foot trying to start its little thumping motion on the wet pavement. She stopped it, huffed, and set off again.

"Penny for your thoughts, Officer?" he said, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his poncho and fell into stride beside her.

It was hard to see her expression, in the dark. The hood didn't help either. But he could see her lips, and he recognized that little grimace. After a few seconds, she said, voice lowered so that it was barely audible over the rain, "Well, first of all, if he goes off on another monologue, I might have to bop him one."

"Aggravated assault on an innocent civilian? And one who's helping us with our inquiries, no less." Nick grinned in the darkness. "My, my. The city's criminal element must be rubbing off on you. You want to watch yourself."

She tried to make the snort sound angry and dismissive, but it didn't really work. And he could see the slight smile anyway. "You know what I mean," she muttered, without looking away from the shape of Jack's longcoat. He was pushing himself hard, determined to stay ahead of them. If he could hear anything Judy was saying, he didn't show it.

"And it's just…" She balled her hands into fists and shook her head. "None of this is _right."_

"Well, I don't know about _right,"_ said Nick slowly. "But it's true, at least. Stuff like this happens."

"Nick, I'm not completely clueless." Judy's voice carried a hint of sharpness in it that made him hesitate, but she didn't raise her voice. "I know you and Jack think I'm sort of… of naive, wild-eyed country girl with no idea of what she's gotten herself into-"

Nick shut his mouth. There was a quip there, but he thought better of it. There were also a handful of other, more serious responses, but those could wait.

"-but I _know_ there are bad things that happen in Zootopia. I mean, cripes, Nick, we took down Bellwether together. I _know_ that some messed up stuff goes on here."

Okay. So maybe one of those serious remarks could be brought out after all. Nick reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. "I know, Carrots. I tease, but I know."

She lifted her paw to set it on his. "Thanks," she said quietly. "It's just… I don't understand this place. I don't understand _him."_ A nod to Jack. "There's a difference between bad things happening and… and bad things being _allowed_ to happen. Being _accepted."_ She gave his paw a squeeze, then lowered her arm. "This whole place is just-"

"If you two are done acting like I'm stupid enough to think you're gettin' outpaced by a cripple," Jack called over his shoulder, "I think we found our place."

He had stopped at the edge of another curb, under one of the sodium lamps, and was looking back at the two of them. Nick stamped his way through another puddle that felt at least knee-deep and glanced up at the street sign.

"Well," he said, "it's Polhaus, anyway. Which one's one-two-one?"

Jack stared at him for a moment. Then he jerked his cane upward, gripped it around the middle of its length, and pointed.

Nick looked up.

And up.

And said, "Oh."

The sign over the doorway, huge black letters outlined in more glaring orange lights, declared it to be The King's Court Hotel, and it was probably the only building in the entire Dooryard that had originally been built for that purpose.

It was _old,_ even by the standards of the Marches. Most of the buildings hadn't been touched in a decade, or more, but the King's Court had obviously been one of those oddities that always cropped up when a city was in its early stages. No modern hotel would have ever been built even remotely like it.

It was tall, and thin, and outlined in ancient, tarnished art deco signs whose lettering had long since fallen away. There were trails of broken lights climbing crazily along its sides. In its heyday, it would have lit up the night sky like a constellation all its own, and would have easily been the tallest building for many blocks, but now it was crumbling and archaic. The rest of Zootopia had moved on. Downtown had sprung up less than half a city away, and the money had gone with it. Now, even the meanest, cheapest building there would have made the King's Court look like a mean spit of nothing.

But down here, down where the buildings were low-slung and skulking, it towered.

It was probably majestic, or something. Relatively, anyway. But as Nick shut the door to the lobby behind them and tugged down the hood of his poncho, the only thing he was really paying attention to was that it was _dry._

He shook his head rapidly for a moment, slinging moisture off of his fur, and blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision.

Yeah. Majestic. Compared to the rest of the Marches, anyway. Everything in the lobby was ancient, but it was clean, and mostly intact, even if the fuzz on the furniture was wearing thin in huge, shiny patches. The lights all worked. In here, even the sodium lamps didn't seem so bad. They were kept low, a dim, diffuse warmth that just sort of slid through the air alongside the music. More jazz. Low-end stuff, the kind of jazz that was only one step above elevator music, but jazz nonetheless. It was almost pleasant.

The middle-aged, slightly wilted marten behind the counter was even wearing a suit. It wasn't tailored right, and hung on him like a potato sack, but it was still a suit. He looked up when they entered and gave them the dead, plastic smile of customer service workers everywhere.

"Ah," he said. "Officers." He looked at Jack for a moment, apparently trying to think of a means of addressing him, but gave up and said instead, "Just a moment. I'll let them know you've arrived."

"'Them'?" asked Judy. She'd already shrugged out of her poncho and was holding it folded over one arm. There was already an impressive puddle around her feet.

"Yes, Officer," said the marten smoothly. His voice was a complete affectation, the sound of someone from the streets trying to sound like a high-class Trottingham old money type. "Miss Reynard and Mister Dawes. They are waiting for you."

He reached down behind the counter. There was a soft click, and a crackle of static, as a button was pressed. "Mister Dawes? Your visitors have arrived."

There was a brief pause before another voice answered. It was a low, rolling voice, the kind of voice that came with a broad, toothy grin attached even if you couldn't see the mouth it was coming from. "Oh, good. I was starting to think that they'd gotten lost. Send them up."

"At once, Mister Dawes." The marten released the button, and there was another soft crackle as the connection died. Then he looked up and extended an arm towards the elevators. "Top floor, Officers. Have a nice day."

When the doors had shut behind them, and Nick had punched the button at the very top of the pad, he said, "So. Dawes. Ringing any bells?"

"No." Jack had taken off his long coat as well, and had it folded over his arm as he stood staring up at the old-fashioned display over the elevator doors. It was one of those classic ones that looked like half a clock face, and had a little brass arrow to point at each number as the floors rolled by.

Nick had to suppress a grin when he realized that Judy was doing the same thing. Coat over arm, ears straight up, eyes on dial. They looked oddly identical.

But he didn't laugh. Instead, he said, "Just 'no', huh? Not very helpful."

"No," said Jack again. "Haven't heard the name. Not one of her clients. Not one of my clients. Not the elephant, because the voice is all wrong." His good foot thumped on the elevator floor for a moment. "Somebody new."

"Which means that he hasn't got any obvious connection to any of this," said Judy. "Except that he knows her."

"Right." Jack's ears were twitching again. "It always comes back to her."

The elevator dinged.

There _was_ a hallway outside the elevator, but Nick hardly got a look at it. The two rabbits left the elevator ahead of him, and when he stepped out, curling his tail in close to keep it out of the way of the closing doors, he only got a brief glimpse of more tile and velvet before the door ahead of them - numberless, as it was the only one on the floor - was opening. And once it _was_ open, the sight of Mister Dawes rather commanded his attention.

Dawes was a lion. A massive, towering example of the species. He could have stood at eye level to Koslov, and he had none of the polar bear's sloping, slightly aged physique. His shoulders were broad and powerful. The paw that he had rested so casually on the doorframe could have wrapped itself easily around any of their whole bodies. And while he stood at a slight, lazy lean, and was wearing a dark blue robe, and had a great mane of shaggy fur that was more than a little tangled, his eyes were sharp and alert as he looked down at them all.

Nick suddenly understood, on a level that he had never expected to feel, why Fox-Away sold so well with rabbits.

"Ah, Officers," he said. This time, they could see the grin that went with the voice. There were far, far too many teeth in it. "And Mister Jack Savage. A pleasure. Do come in."

And he stepped back, pulling the door open for them as he went.

Judy moved first. Nick had to fight the urge to reach out and yank her back towards the elevator as she stepped through the doorway. "Thank you, Mister… Dawes, right?"

"Dawes indeed," said Dawes. His grin hadn't faded in the least. Nick couldn't take his eyes away. Polite, warm, even friendly, but there was something about it that was flipping every switch in all the wrong parts of his brain. Watching Judy walk past it, looking as though nothing was wrong, made him want to scream.

"Orson Dawes," the lion continued, as Jack limped past him with a curt nod. Nick couldn't tell whether or not the rabbit was picking up on the same things he was. Come to that, he wasn't even sure what those things _were,_ but Jack had gone blank again, and there was no telling whether or not he had the same thoughts about that grin. "And you are Officers Judy Hopps and Nicholas Wilde. Precinct One's greatest claims to fame."

"That's us," said Judy. "Sorry to disturb you." More politeness. She was down to working, now. All business. Questions to be asked. Nick grabbed onto that professionalism, held it tight, and drew himself up.

He even managed to put a smile back on as he slipped through the doorway, offering Dawes a lazy salute as he went.

"Oh, it's no trouble," said Dawes. "I just have to apologize for my present state of undress. I wasn't expecting company on such short notice. And the shower is presently occupied, so I haven't had the opportunity to fix my mane."

He waved a hand towards a door on the other side of the room. It was quite a distance away; the penthouse suite occupied the entire top floor of the King's Court, and the lounge, or whatever the technical term for the room they were in now was, seemed to occupy most of it.

Nick looked around. Even with the towering wall of mane and teeth to his back, he found his feelings of nervousness washed away by the sight of the place. Deep, warm carpeting rustled under his feet. Overhead, a chandelier, gold and crystal that somehow managed to be tasteful rather than gaudy, cast the room in the same warm, comfortable glow that had filled the lobby. The couches - all of them, he didn't bother to count - were broad and soft-looking, with an assortment of pillows spread out over each. The fancy kind, with tassels. There was a large, expensive-looking television that occupied most of one wall, but it looked mostly untouched, while the old-fashioned phonograph beside it was playing softly.

There was even a bar against the far wall, lined with the kind of bottles expensive enough to not need labels. There was a small ashtray on one end, and - he took a breath through his nose - and, yes, there was the sweet smell of Reynard's cigarettes.

Rain pattered against the window as Dawes turned and strode across the carpeting towards the bar. "Ariadne will be out soon, I'm sure," he said. "She insists on not appearing in front of company without time to prepare herself properly. But I don't think you're really here for her, anyway. Is that right?"

Nick glanced to the other two. Judy was tugging out her pen again, along with a new notebook. Jack was just… standing, his entire body one perfect vertical line, and looking slowly around with the slightest of frowns on his face.

He stepped forward. "That's right," he said. "I'm guessing your gate guy told you about us looking for someone. Had to use the name to get him to open up."

"He did tell me, yes." Dawes' gaze swung around and fell on Nick like a spotlight, but years of con jobs came rushing up out of his back-brain and kept the vague, polite smile in place as he looked up into those huge, gleaming eyes. "And I have to apologize for what I assume was exceptionally dismissive behavior on his part. I hired him to keep people out, you see, and he's very good at it, but that's meant for the… hrrrn." It was an odd noise, from the back of his throat, like a roll of thunder. "We'll say 'less desirable types', I think. The thieves and the thugs. We do our best, here, to try and ensure the safety of our tenants."

"We're looking for one of your tenants, actually," said Judy, as she flipped her notebook open. Dawes' gaze left Nick's shoulders like a physical weight as he turned to look at her again. There was a click, and then she was standing in her usual pose, looking up at Dawes with her pen poised to write. "We got a tip that a rat we're looking for might have come here for medical attention. Do you have anyone living here who supplies emergency medical treatment to rodents?"

There was a clink as Dawes reached beneath the counter and fished out a pair of old-fashioned glasses. His movements were slow and lazy, like a… well. Like a predatory cat's. "Oh, yes," he said simply. "That would be… Marlowe, I think is the name. A stoat, living down on Guard Way. Number three-oh-four, I believe. Used to be a doctor. He gets visitors like that, from time to time." He shrugged, then added, "I understand that you, Mister Savage, do not drink."

Jack merely shrugged.

Dawes chuckled. "I admire your fortitude. And I assume that you two do not drink on duty."

"We don't," said Judy.

Nick said nothing. There wasn't anything to add, anyway, and as it stood, he was having trouble keeping himself from panicking completely.

Something about Dawes was setting off every warning bell, every red flag, every siren that Nick had ever developed over his years on the streets. He didn't know what. Didn't have a clue. But it was there, and it was strong. Every nerve in his body twanged with the urge to turn tail and run, and never stop.

Dawes chuckled again. If he noticed Nick's discomfort, he didn't show it. "Good." The glasses clinked as a few ice cubes were added. "Well, then, Officers. Mister Savage. I wish you all the luck in the world in your continuing search. Ariadne told me about the whole thing, of course. Terrible business, all of it. If there's anything else I can do, please, do not hesitate to ask." And he waved one enormous paw towards the door.

"Of course," said Nick, a little more quickly than he would have liked. "Thank you for your-"

"Actually," said Judy, "there are a few questions that we need to ask you, Mister Dawes."

Nick couldn't quite stop the little strangled sound that bubbled up from the back of his throat. Dawes hadn't just said goodbye. He'd _dismissed_ them. He wanted them to leave. _Nick_ wanted them to leave. The bartop wasn't enough of a barrier. He wanted to get out of the King's Court. He wanted to get out of the Dooryard. He wanted to get back into the station and behind steel bars and wrap himself around Judy, keep her away from those teeth and those big, shining eyes.

The grin faded, just a bit, and Dawes lowered one titanic, clawed paw to the counter. "Of course," he said. But his voice was a little less warm and welcoming, now. "Ask away. But I'm afraid, Officer, that I have nothing to tell you. I am simply a bystander in this."

And Judy just stood there, looking as bright and professional as ever. Just here, just now, she looked very, very small.

"Well, then, I'm sure we can get this over with in just a few minutes," she said brightly. "And then we'll be out of your mane. First off, do you mind telling me what your relationship with Ariadne Reynard is, exactly?"

There was a slight creaking sound as Jack shifted his weight onto the cane.

Dawes raised one eyebrow. "Well," he said, "I hesitate to say 'boyfriend and girlfriend' in this case. It sounds so… juvenile." He chuckled, but Nick saw his fingers tighten. Saw the tips of his claws touch the wood of the countertop. The grin was still there, but it was less, now, and his eyes were sharper than ever. "Let's say 'romantic partners'."

Judy nodded and scribbled something down in her notebook. "And how long have you two been together?"

"Two years, give or take," said Dawes.

There was a snort from Jack, and Nick turned to see his lip curled back in a sneer. "Two years, huh?" he said. There was no attempt to mask the venom in his words. "Funny. Because, about this time two years ago, I was taking her out to our anniversary dinner."

"Yes," said another voice. "And then he did the same."

Nick hadn't seen her enter. Neither had Jack, or Judy. Both of their heads snapped around at the same moment his did. Only Dawes showed no immediate reaction beyond a quiet laugh.

And there she was. Ariadne Reynard, once again, slipping out from a door that might have led to the bedroom or the bathroom, still tying the sash of her own robe tightly around her middle. It was the kind of sheer, satin-y number that hugged her curves in ways that would kill anyone not prepared for it.

She didn't pause as she entered. She just sashayed across the floor, tail weaving lazy patterns in the air behind her, to press herself into Dawes' side. He folded an arm lazily across her shoulders, and she smiled up at him for a moment before looking back down. When she spoke, her eyes were on Judy, rather than Jack.

"Orson and I have been together for some time," she said. "And, yes, quite a good while of it was behind Jack's back. Which is, I will admit, quite unsavory, but it is not illegal."

Nick looked over to Judy, who had turned back to stare at him at the same moment. Her eyes were wide, her expression mortified. She grimaced desperately at him, as if asking what she should say next. All he could do was shrug.

Jack took it out of their hands. "No," he said. "It ain't illegal. But I've gotta admit that I'm curious about what your elephant friend thinks about all this. Or what you-" he looked to Dawes "-think about the elephant."

Dawes just grinned again. A genuine grin, too. There was too much amusement in those eyes for it to be a fake like the one he had worn a few moments before. Cruel, sadistic amusement, yes, but amusement nonetheless. "Cairo?" he said. "Yes, I know all about Cairo."

"The details of my personal life, and of my relationship choices, are none of your concern, Jack," said Reynard. "I really don't know how many times I have to say it. Nor-" she turned to look at Nick "-are they any concern for the police."

There was something about the way she said that last word. Nick couldn't stop himself from blinking. And she held his gaze, too, for too long to just be trying to make a point of it. There was an odd look in her eyes.

He felt as though he were missing something.

And then she looked away, and it was over.

Judy was talking again. That was what had caught her attention, broken the spell, pulled her eyes away from his. "...still have to ask, I'm afraid," she said. "You are officially a person of interest in this case, Miss Reynard. We have to do some digging, even if it is uncomfortable."

"Then let me save you some time," said Reynard, sounding vaguely irritated. "Orson and I are together. It is entirely personal, and there are no professional ties. He manages the Dooryard, and I have my practice. Cairo is a…" She pursed her lips. "...mutual acquaintance. The nature of my relationship with him is entirely unrelated to anything related to your investigation."

"I'm afraid that we can't just take your word for it, ma'am." Judy's pen was still poised over her notebook. "We still have to-"

Dawes' fingers tightened around Reynard's shoulder.

The last vestiges of Nick's nerve broke and ran. He stepped forward and set a hand on her shoulder. "Actually, Carrots," he said, a little more loudly than was perfectly natural, "I think we've got what we need here. We got a name, we got a place, and we got a rat to catch. Time's a-wasting. He could already be gone, even."

He grinned desperately at her. She looked at him like he'd gone insane.

She might have been right.

"He's right," said Jack's voice from behind him. Nick didn't dare to look back, but he offered silent thanks for the fact that the vitriol was gone from the rabbit's words. "We got work to do. We know where to find these two if we need 'em."

"Which we probably won't," said Nick. The words came out slightly strangled as he lifted his gaze to Dawes' face again. The man was staring down at him with both eyebrows raised, now, and the grin was entirely gone. Nick was amazed that this didn't actually make him any easier to look at. "Really, Carrots, let's let these people have their alone time."

Judy squinted at him for just a moment. Then, to Nick's indescribable relief, she snapped the notebook shut and slipped her pen back into her pocket. "Right," she said. "Yes. Of course. You two… have a nice day. We'll be back if we need you for anything else."

"Of course," said Dawes. "We'll be here."

He still didn't smile.

Judy clapped her paws together, smiled brightly, and turned to lead the way out of the room. Nick followed so closely behind her that he stepped on the back of her heel once or twice before they reached the elevator. He didn't even stop to be sure that Jack was following them.

And yet, through the haze of generalized, uneasy, unspecified panic that was pulsing through his brain, he still had enough awareness left to see that Reynard was looking at him again.

The look in her eyes was a puzzle he didn't have enough pieces to solve.


	11. ELEVEN

**ELEVEN**

* * *

 _41\. CONCERNING THE MESSENGERS THE LION SENT TO THE KING OF MEN._

 _When at first the lion had sent off his messengers and presents to the king of men, Dame Reynard, who was doorkeeper, told him that the leopard's wife was the most beautiful animal in the whole world. So much did Dame Reynard praise the leopard's wife to the king, that he fell in love with her and took her as his wife, in spite of queen and council, which council was very afraid of Dame Reynard, when they saw how she had persuaded the king to commit such a wrong against his own good wife and against the leopard, who was his loyal servant._

 _...When the messengers had returned and given an account of their mission, the leopard went to his house where he expected to find his wife, whom he loved very much. The weasel and all the other members of the leopard's household were very sad when they saw their master; and they told the leopard of the dishonor the king had done him when he had violated his wife. The leopard's anger against the king was alarming to see, and he asked the weasel if his wife had been angry or pleased with the king when he took her into his service._

" _Sir," said the weasel, "your wife was very angry at the king's advances, and she cried for a long time, and bemoaned having to leave you, whom she loved above all else."_

 _The leopard's anger grew even greater at the thought of his wife's being forced to enter the king's service; for if she had liked the idea, he would not have been so displeased. So while the leopard was in this state of anger he began thinking about how he could avenge himself upon the lion who had so betrayed him._

Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Long, slow thoughts rolled around the inside of Jack Savage's head, clanking like hollow metal dice.

As he watched the little brass arrow tick its way down the track above the elevator doors, he was mildly surprised to discover that he wasn't seething with anger.

Oh, he was still angry. The thick, red haze of it still lay like fog over his brain, fueled by little snatches of phrase like _and then he did the same._ It'd probably hang around for a while. But it wasn't what was driving, any more. Something else had latched on, taken command of his muscles. Sent little trills of electricity up and down his spine.

Wilde was standing in the back corner of the elevator, eyes wide, breathing too hard to be normal and with his tail so fluffed out that it looked like he'd been struck by lightning. His attempt at a cocky smile was closer to a death rictus. And Hopps was standing with her arms folded over her chest, looking as though she couldn't decide whether to be alarmed or furious.

And Jack found himself actually smiling.

Admittedly, it was a crooked, grim little smile, born more of adrenaline than anything. But it was there. Even Hopps' foot thumping on the elevator floor couldn't dislodge it, though she looked as though she were about to haul off and punch him right in the teeth.

"Okay," she said. "So who wants to start trying to explain that disaster?"

Jack shook his head. "Outside, Officer," he said. One of his ears twitched towards a corner of the elevator, where a small black lens glinted in the light.

"Yes," said Wilde. "Outside. Please. And preferably about ten miles away." He had a mad, fixed grin on his face, like a nightmare clown, and was trying desperately to keep his tail from twitching. Hopps' expression went soft again as she looked at him.

"What's wrong, Nick?" she said quietly.

" _Outside,_ Officer," Jack repeated. He tapped his cane on the elevator floor. He saw the glare returning, saw her mouth opening to respond, and held up his free hand to stop her. "Not trying to dismiss you," he said calmly. "And I haven't lost my grip. We just ought to wait until there's no one watching."

He saw her wrestling with herself. Her shoulders slumped, and her ears went flat as she frowned. "Fine," she said. "But I'm getting very, _very_ tired of getting left out of the loop here."

Wilde reached out and took her shoulder, then tugged her into his chest. She blinked in surprised, then hugged him back. Jack watched them, grin fading just a bit, and shook his head again. The fox's eyes were wide, and he wasn't even looking at Hopps as he held her. He was staring at the elevator doors, as if trying to will them to open.

Jack glanced at the camera again, took a breath, and looked back up to the dial.

"You're breaking character, Wilde," he said, without much emotion in his voice.

The fox blinked, glanced at the camera himself, and released his grip on Hopps. She stood there in front of him, looking completely lost, nose twitching.

Jack could sense her frustration, knew that she thought they had been stonewalled again, but he had worked cases like this for far too long. Things were clicking into place in his head.

Not everything. Pieces were missing. Big pieces. But enough that pictures were starting to form.

The dial pinged its way down.

Outside, in the rain again, with the familiar weight of his longcoat on his shoulders, he found himself actually laughing under his breath as they strode away from the King's Court.

Hopps' fuse hit zero. "Okay," she said. Jack looked back. "So what was any of that? Why were you so determined to get angry at her while I was asking questions? And what's got _you-"_ she wheeled on Wilde, expression softening again "-so freaked out?"

She paused, and blinked in the glare of the lamps. "Nick?" she said quietly. One of her paws moved to take his. "What's wrong?"

Jack turned. Wilde was standing straight up, with his back to the doors and both ears pointed. He hadn't even drawn up the hood of his poncho, and the rain was pouring down his face in thick streams.

Wide eyes. Slow, heavy breathing.

Jack caught his eye and nodded, once. He didn't say anything, but he saw the recognition in Wilde's face.

The fox let out a deep, heavy breath, ran a hand over his face, and drew up his hood.

"Dunno, exactly," he muttered. "Keep walking. We shouldn't stay here."

He gripped Hopps' paw tight and tugged her into motion, falling into step beside Jack.

About half a block away from the Court, Jack said, "You're not insane."

Wilde laughed, once. "Oh, good. Wonderful to know that you _also_ think that a guy we're probably going to have to question again is completely terrifying. I feel _so_ much better."

"Is that what made you lose it back there?" Hopps still sounded lost. "You're afraid of Dawes? _Why?"_

There was a moment of silence from Wilde as they strode through another puddle. Then he said, "I… really couldn't tell ya, Carrots. But that guy…" He shivered under his poncho. "Hrf. No. We are _not_ getting paid enough to question him again."

"I don't…" Hopps paused. "I mean, okay. He's huge. And toothy. And looks like he could break any of us in half with one hand. But he was… I mean, he was _polite._ As polite as you can expect anybody to be when the cops drop in, I mean. He-"

"He's a domineering, possessive, dangerous bastard," said Jack sharply. "And your boyfriend picked up on it better than you did."

There was a moment of silence. Jack grimaced, lifted his free paw, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Okay," he said. "That came out harsher than I meant it. Really."

"I'm sure," muttered Hopps.

"No. Really." Jack sighed, paused, and tipped his head towards a handy awning. The three of them moved to huddle beneath it. It wasn't much protection, but at least it didn't feel like he was standing under a waterfall any more.

"Arright." He lifted a hand to his mouth for a moment, frowning. Hopps and Wilde stood side to side, an arm's length away, watching him curiously. The fox's arm was around her shoulders. He still looked nervous, but he wasn't at the edge of panic any more. Hopps still looked… annoyed. Unsettled.

Jack sighed heavily, then stuck out his paw towards her.

"Let's try this again," he said. "For the second time."

She stared at him for a long time before shaking his hand.

"Right," he said, as he shoved it back into his coat pocket. "Now. Startin' over. First off, you're a good cop. You ask the right questions and you don't let yourself get scared off. That's good." He flicked an ear. "But there are things you're missing. It ain't your fault. You don't come from where we do." He nodded to Wilde.

Hopps blinked. Then she sighed. "Where I came from doesn't matter right now, Jack," she said. "It doesn't change the fact that we didn't get anything out of either of them that we haven't heard before. Except for the elephant's name." She shook her head. "We've just got to hope that our rat is still there for us to question him properly."

About as good as his little olive branch was going to get, probably. It'd have to do.

He shrugged. "Well, now," he said, "I think we got a bit more than that."

Hopps tilted her head to one side.

He glanced to Wilde. "You've been a con man," he said. "You know the basics of how to read people, but you're better at manipulating 'em. You can figure it out, though. So walk me through it." He leaned back against the wall, and, without looking away from the fox, started to fish around in his coat pockets for his cigarettes. "What was wrong with Dawes?"

Wilde gave him a confused look for a moment. Glanced to Hopps. Then looked back, and screwed up his face in concentration.

"Hoookay," he said, after a few seconds. "He was setting off _every_ warning bell in my head. Seriously. The worst kind of bad news. Like… Koslov on a bad day." He nudged Hopps. "Like right before we got dangled over the ice pit. That kind of bad."

There was only one cigarette left in the pack. Jack sighed, brought it to his lips, and reached for his lighter. "Good," he says. "Now tell me why. Both of you. What'd you see?"

Hopps frowned. "Just tell us, Jack," she said. "This isn't a game."

"No," he agreed. "It's not." The lighter clicked in his hands, and he took a drag on his cigarette. "That's why I'm _not_ just tellin' you. This isn't a game. Your lives are on the line as much as mine. You either learn how it works or you die." He exhaled, through his nose. "So work with me here. I'm not tryin' to patronize you. I'm tryin' to _teach_ you. You've already seen it. You just didn't think about it. So think now, and think hard."

He was smiling again. The case was moving. _He_ was moving.

He'd forgotten what this felt like.

"We didn't get stonewalled," he said. "We got a lot outta that. They both slipped. So think."

Hopps and Wilde stared at him. But Wilde didn't look frightened, and Hopps didn't look angry. They both looked thoughtful, now.

"Dawes," said Nick slowly. "The way his hands moved. His fingers. They tightened whenever Judy was asking questions. He kept… putting his claws against things. The counter. Reynard."

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he said. "And it wasn't just his hands. Grin got smaller. He was angry. Tryin' not to show it. Didn't like you-" he nodded to Hopps "-asking questions. Which means he's got somethin' to hide." His cigarette flared in the gloom. "Watch the face. Rey's good. Most aren't. The face'll tell you everything."

Judy lifted a paw. "Hold on," she said. "That's… okay. That's a bit of a stretch, too, isn't it? Saying he's got something to hide just because he was annoyed? I mean, we did just… turn up unannounced, asking to see his girlfriend, and then started questioning him. Being annoyed isn't so strange a reaction."

Jack tapped some ash off the end of his cigarette. "Two things there," he said. "One. If you can look me in the eye and say you don't think he's involved, I'll let you keep on believin' that. But I'm tellin' you straight out that Orson Dawes is a scary bastard, and there's no way he's not in this."

The thoughts were rolling faster now. Lightning crackled between them, and he could feel his fingers drumming on his cane grip in time with the rhythm of their movements.

There was no answer from Hopps.

"Two," he said, smile growing just a bit wider as he said it, "we _were_ unannounced."

More silence. Then Wilde blinked and slapped a hand to his forehead.

" _Oh,"_ he said. "Oh. Oh, _man._ How did- how could we _miss_ that?"

Jack's grin returned. "Doesn't matter. You got it now. So what's it tell you?"

"Wait." Judy was digging for her notebook again. "Wait. That means - you said that Reynard went to Mason before we did, right?"

"Yeah." Jack felt that familiar, fierce surge in the back of his brain. The way he always felt when things started to come together. Still not there. It was just an idea. Just a hint. But they saw it, too. There was something.

"But she didn't tell Dawes," she said quietly. "Why wouldn't she tell Dawes, if - he said she told him all about what was happening. So if she knew you well enough to know you'd go to Mason for information, and knew that _he_ knew enough to send you here… why not tell Dawes?" Her voice rose with every syllable. Eyes shining. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Unless." It was Wilde that raised a hand this time. "Unless she wanted him to be surprised."

"But… why, though?" Hopps paused in her scribbling and looked up again. Several droplets of water escaped the awning and splashed onto her notebook. She ignored them. "What does she get by not telling him that we're coming?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't know yet," he said.

"Puts him off-balance?" Wilde scratched at an ear. "Mmmaybe…" He trailed off, then lifted both arms before letting them fall back to his sides. "Nope. I've got nothing. Why wouldn't she tell her boyfriend that they might be getting a visit from the cops?"

" _Is_ he her boyfriend?" Hopps was looking down at her notebook again, trying to write around the water damage. "I mean. We thought the elephant was, too."

"He is," said Jack flatly. "Or close enough as doesn't matter. Cairo is either getting played or was just lyin' to us."

She glanced up. "How do you know that?"

Jack frowned. "I heard him," he said flatly. "Back in the station, right after Effie. Rey comes to talk to me, almost like she used to. She shuts him out. Doesn't even wait for him to come into the room before she starts talking. And he just sits down at the table, looks at you two, an' talks about how the world stops when we're together?"

He snorted. "Any mug spouts a line like that when his girl goes after the ex she swears she's over ain't feelin' very confident about his chances. Which means either he's gettin' played, and he knows it, or it was an act to begin with."

He saw them both looking at him. "I told you," he said. "I pay attention. Leg's busted." He lifted a hand to point at his head. "Ears... still work."

They looked at each other. He saw the embarrassment on Hopps' face.

"Yeah," he said. "I heard you talkin' about me, too. And a word of warning, before you try to slug me." He pushed off the wall, lifted one paw, and wiggled his fingers in front of her face before balling them into a fist. "This still works, too. And I'm not as chivalrous as he is. _I_ hit back."

He grinned. Watched Hopps redden for a moment. Heard the snicker from Wilde.

"You're feeling chipper all of a sudden, Stripes. Kind of expected you to be blowing a fuse after that scene up there." Wilde propped one elbow on Hopp's shoulder and jerked a thumb over his own, into the gloom beyond the awning.

Jack flicked an ear. The count had been going on for so long now that it was almost automatic. Four on the inhale. Eight on the exhale.

Like walking a tightrope.

"I'm workin'," he said flatly.

Straightened his hat. Nodded to Hopps.

"Come on," he said. "We got a rat to find."

And set off into the Dooryard again.

Guard Way took some finding. The Dooryard wasn't huge, but it was one of the _old_ parts of town, when the streets hadn't been so carefully planned out and snaked over one another at crazy angles. And that was _before_ the modifications.

Now, it was a maze.

It was Hopps that found it, eventually. Guard Way had originally been a side street. Now it barely qualified as a back alley, and a dead-end one at that. The buildings on either side of it had been converted to small-mammal housing, and a hallway had been constructed across what had once been the street.

It was Hopps who found it. She stood huddled in the scant shelter afforded by the doorframe, with the tarnished brass numbers that declared it to be number 304 gleaming dully just beside her.

It was a very small door. There was a still smaller one built into the bottom of it.

"This is it, then," said Wilde, as he stomped through the ankle-deep water to join Hopps.

"Mmhm," she said. "What do you think the chances are that he's actually still here?"

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on 'em, I know that much," Wilde answered. He glanced to Jack. "You, Stripes?"

The nickname was still vaguely irritating, but Jack didn't comment. Instead, he said, "He won't be here."

"You sound awfully confident," said Hopps.

"He won't be here," Jack repeated. Gears were still turning in his head. "He'll have left, and we'll have to go check his house. Which is…" He lifted his head and peered around at the sea of gloom, with its buzzing, crackling, sodium-orange stars. "...around here, somewhere. And he won't be there, either, but we might find something useful."

Hopps and Wilde looked at each other.

"Moving a little fast there, aren't you?" said Hopps. "We haven't even gone in yet."

Jack didn't look around. His ears swiveled in the rain. Listening.

"No," he said, after a while. "I'm still movin' far too slow. And we're still missin' a piece." He turned back. Looked up at Wilde. "Street names are still here. What do you think are the odds that, if we went back and checked Kelly and Bannion's addresses, they'd both turn up in this place?"

Wilde blinked, then whistled between his teeth. "She's right," he said. "You _are_ moving fast. Lot of leaps there. Watch out you don't trip yourself."

"We'll find out whether or not I've tripped myself in just a minute," said Jack. He lifted a paw and waved it towards the door. "We finally got someone to actually question."

"Right." Hopps turned, took a deep breath, and rapped sharply on the door with her knuckles. "Mister Marlowe?" she called. "Zootopia Police. Can we ask you a few questions?"

There was a moment of silence and rain. Then there was a sharp, wooden sound as a little slot set into the lower door snapped open.

"It's _Miss_ Marlowe, actually," said a voice.

They looked down.

A small, severely-dressed stoat woman with graying fur and overlarge spectacles peered up at them through the murk. She was small, even for her species, and didn't even come up to chest height on Jack.

"Oh," said Hopps. "I am so sorry. Mister Dawes said… er…"

Marlowe frowned slightly. One of her paws fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. Then she sighed, turned, and said, "It's not important. Come in."

The slot snapped shut. There were a few seconds of scrabbling noises from the other side of the door, followed by a metallic thunk.

The door creaked open.

Marlowe's apartment was about what Jack had expected. It was small, cramped, and poky, obviously built from leftover space. It might have been the back corner of a storeroom, once, or behind the bar in some old speakeasy. Now, it was a narrow, inverted L-shape, barely larger than a closet, with the right-hand wall built entirely of nailed-together planks that were obviously newer than the outside.

There was a bed, up in the upper niche of the L, with a rickety ladder attached to the wall acting as the means of access. A few shelves had been installed to add some artificial floor space, each cluttered with rodent-sized furniture and serving as a tumbledown room unto itself. They jutted out from the wall, which meant that there was barely enough room for Hopps, Wilde, and Jack to shuffle inside alongside them.

Overhead, the single, bare bulb illuminating the room buzzed and swayed, throwing crazy shadows over the walls.

Marlowe was small for a stoat, but still too large for the rat-sized furniture that she was making use of. She scrabbled up the ladder and onto the shelf closest to eye level with Hopps - the one vaguely approximating a dining room - and perched herself delicately on an undersized chair, looking vaguely nervous.

She straightened her skirt, cleared her throat, and looked up at Wilde. "So," she said. "You're here about Falk."

Wilde nodded, then made a strange noise as Hopps lowered the hood of her poncho and raised both ears to smack him in the snout. They were standing close again, with Hopps' back against Wilde's chest. Not that they had much choice in the matter. Marlowe's apartment was barely more than a cabinet.

Wilde brought up a paw and pushed down Hopps' ears flat against the top of her head. "Yeah," he said, ignoring her indignant noises. "We're here to talk about Falk. Assuming that's the rat who came to see you recently."

Marlowe simply nodded up at him as Hopps shook herself free of his grip and forced herself another inch or two to the side, buying room to lift her ears comfortably. "Mister Dawes said that you do emergency medical work for people who come to see you," she said. She didn't bother with the notebook this time. "Is that true?"

Marlowe fidgeted. Swallowed. Glanced back and forth between the two cops for a moment.

Jack sighed. "Relax, miss," he said, as gently as he could manage. "You're not about to be arrested for helpin' people. I'm guessin' you used to be a doctor."

Marlowed turned over to him. Her tiny eyes glittered in the light from the swaying bulb. "Nurse," she whispered, after a moment. "I was a nurse."

"Nurse," said Jack. "Right. Well, Miss Marlowe-"

"Phyllis." She shifted on her seat, one claw still toying with the hem of her skirt. "It's Phyllis, please."

"-Phyllis," he went on, nodding, "you're not about to be arrested. We just wanna know about Falk. Then we'll be outta your hair. Arright?"

Phyllis inhaled deeply, then looked back to Hopps and Wilde. They nodded, in unison. Jack had to stop himself from snorting.

But it did get Phyllis to visibly relax. She sank down onto the chair, which creaked beneath her, and nodded back. "I knew that someone would come looking for me eventually," she said. Her voice was small and quavering. "I know that most of the ones who come to me are the ones who don't want to go to the hospitals, and it's usually not for a nice reason. But… I need the money."

There was a series of rapid-fire, metallic pinging noises from above. They all looked up to the loft where the bed was hidden, where a thin stream of raindrops was pouring down from a gap in the ceiling into a little metal pan.

"Can't imagine rent is all that high," said Wilde brightly.

Phyllis frowned down at her fingers. "No," she said. "But I don't make much working at the bar, and…"

She trailed off, leaving the air filled with awkward, hollow silence.

Hopps cleared her throat. "But you treated Falk," she said. A gentle prompt.

Marlowe nodded. "I did," she said. "He turned up last night with claw wounds in his back and sides. I cleaned the wounds and stitched him up as best I could."

There was an embarrassed noise from Wilde. "Yyyyeah," he said. "That was me. He, ah… he… Did he tell you why he got clawed up?"

Phyllis Marlowe shook her head.

Wilde coughed into a fist, looking embarrassed. "He… was part of a murder attempt. Which succeeded."

Marlowe squeaked. Both of her hands grabbed big handfuls of her skirt and squeezed tight.

"I didn't know," she whispered.

"We know," said Hopps gently. "We're not accusing you of anything. We just need to know what happened to him."

Marlowe looked up towards the loft where the bed was hidden. "I tried to tell him to stay still," she said. "He'd lost a lot of blood, but… he wouldn't stay still. Kept saying that he had to go home. If you're looking for him, I'd check there."

Hopps and Wilde looked around as Jack let out a harsh little chuckle. He raised both eyebrows and inclined his head slightly, just for a moment, before falling silent again.

He ignored their looks. The thoughts were rolling again. The inside of his skull felt like a bell. Hopps was getting a description, a run-down of what Phyllis knew about Falk's activities, his address, his reputation. He tuned it out, switched it off like a radio station. He knew what she was going to say.

There wouldn't be much. Falk would be the same as Bannion and Kelly, just another sap working bad jobs because it was the only way to keep the money coming in. Probably a pack rat, one of the Underside gangers, grew up around knives and drugs and couldn't find any way out of the maze. Ended up as just another one of the interchangeable faces of the Marches' criminal side, one of the ones that had a rap sheet longer than their arm and nothing of substance to show for it. Not the type to plan heists, or turn a real profit doing 'em. Just a hired body. Someone to hold a knife, or move some product, and be discarded.

He'd seen it before. It was where they all ended up. It was what the Marches did. There was no way out, for people like Falk. Or people like Marlowe, once they ended up in a place like this. All they could do was hang on and try not to drown.

Another thought clanked into position as he turned and shuffled out of the door, making room for Hopps and Wilde to follow. He was dimly aware of the nervous, mournful gaze of Phyllis Marlowe watching them leave, and of Hopps and Wilde conversing in hushed voices, but he was drifting now. The adrenaline and anger and exhaustion were all coming together in his head and beating up on his hindbrain with a crowbar.

He was going to need sleep soon.

There had been another thought. What was it? Something about thugs like Bannion. About things they wouldn't-

Oh. Yeah. About how they were probably as cynical as he was. And not stupid, for all that they were on the bottom rung in the lowest ladder in the city. They didn't stay alive by taking stupid jobs that would bring the cops down. They definitely didn't stick around when things went bad, and the cops actually showed.

The rain was letting up, but the streets and gutters were still overflowing. He was vaguely aware that Hopps and Wilde were leading them into a part of the Dooryard closer to the canals, with more and more artificial walkway and less and less paved road.

Falk's friend hadn't hesitated in that leap for Effie. Even with Jack right there.

Like Jack hadn't even mattered to them. Like the cops hadn't mattered.

Like something was more important.

There was still something missing. More than one something, really. The puzzle in his head was only starting to come together. But the bit he was working on was nearly there.

Three thugs. All Dooryarders. All too experienced to do the kind of stupid thing they'd done.

Hopps was knocking on another door, this one even lower-slung than the one leading to Marlowe's closet of an apartment. He heard her say "Falk? ZPD. Open up!" Saw Wilde step to the other side of the door. Saw them pull their tasers in unison. Saw the little nod and serious expressions pass between them.

Saw the door open.

And found the last piece.


	12. TWELVE

TWELVE

* * *

 _The leopard arrived at the court of the king, and Dame Reynard, who saw him coming, said secretly to the king: "My lord, as a result of your affair with the leopard's wife, I have incurred the leopard's wrath. So, unless you honor me in front of the leopard, that is, do me the honor of letting me be closer to you than anyone else, I think the leopard will kill me." From that moment on, the lion made Dame Reynard a member of his council, and kept her near him so the leopard would not dare to wound or kill her. And on Dame Reynard's advice, he gave the post of doorkeeper to the peacock, who had an excellent sense of smell._

 _All of the king's council and all of the barons there were displeased by the honor the king accorded to Dame Reynard, and more than any of them, the leopard was displeased, because he had been informed that Dame Reynard was responsible for his wife's marriage to the king._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

The kid's name was Eddie. Edmond, really, but he preferred the more casual way of saying it. He didn't like having two cops turning up on his doorstep and demanding to see his dad, but he was a bit less opposed to talking to the badge-less rabbit in the long coat. They settled, eventually, in leaving the little door slot open so that Hopps and Wilde could listen in.

It wasn't like there was enough room for them inside, anyway. Marlowe's broom closet was a palace compared to the Dooryard's rat housing. Jack was reasonably sure that the entire place had originally just been a crate that had been attached to the side of an existing building and had some siding slapped on.

There was nowhere for him to sit. He settled for standing, in a half-crouch over his cane, in the middle of the floor, while Eddie perched on one of the shelves beside a tiny stove where a pot full of instant macaroni was cooking.

He was far too tired for this, but… the kid was there. Things had to be done.

"So your dad didn't come home last night," he said. It wasn't really a question. The answer was far too obvious. Had been before they arrived. But it still had to get said.

His free paw came up to pat at the pockets of his coat for a moment before he remembered that he was out of cigarettes.

"No," said Eddie. He was a scrawny kid. Eighteen. Nineteen. Wiry coat, twitchy nose. Torn clothing. Bit of defiance in the voice as he raised it to say, loud enough that Hopps and Wilde could hear, "And I don't know where he is, neither, so you're wasting your time."

"When was the last time you saw him?" said Hopps, from outside.

Eddie's whiskers twitched. "I don't have to talk to you," he said angrily. The pot on the stove rattled. "I don't know nothing. I don't know where he went, or why, and if I did, I wouldn't tell it to any cops."

Jack sighed and lifted a paw to forestall any response from the slot.

"I believe you," he said quietly. "It doesn't matter, really. We know where he went and what he did, and why he had to go to Marlowe after." The corner of his mouth twitched downward. "You know what kind of work he did?"

Eddie scowled and shook his head, but the eyes were wrong. Jack pressed on.

"Your dad have life insurance?"

He saw the rat flinch. Didn't have to look around to know Hopps was sighing and running both paws over her face in mingled frustration and a sudden feeling of awkwardness. Wilde was probably taking it better. He'd have seen it coming.

"What the hell does that matter?" Eddie's nose was twitching again, and his eyes were too bright and shiny. "You tryin'a say something?"

Jack shook his head, reached into his coat, and tugged out his own notebook. Tiny thing. Spiral bound. "Look," he said, as he fished out a pen. "There's a guy I know. Name's Mason. Works at Harry Lime's Place. Give him a call. Tell him Jack Savage sent you, and you need a job."

"I got a job," said Eddie. His voice was a snarl. Too raw. Jack could hear it sinking in.

"Now you got a better one," he answered calmly. He tore the sheet of paper out, set it on the shelf by the rat. "Not by much, but still. Better." The notebook slipped back into a pocket. Before the kid could protest again, he continued, "Now, I got two things left to ask. And they're important ones, so I'm not leavin' until you answer."

"Just get it over with," snapped Eddie. "Stop wasting my time."

"Fine." Jack tapped his cane against the floor. "One. You mind if my friends out there take a look through this place? I'd do it myself, but apparently this is a police investigation, which means they've got to handle the serious stuff."

Eddie snorted and waved a paw at the depressingly bare shelves. "Be my guest, pal."

"Good," said Jack. "And two. Your dad talk to anybody before he left? Anybody unusual? Phone call? Visitor? Letter?"

He saw the frown deepen. The silence went on for longer than he was comfortable with. Just as he opened his mouth to start pushing, though, Eddie said flatly, "Phone call. Don't know who from. Just… another of those calls."

Jack shut his mouth, nodded, and turned. "Thanks, kid," he said, as he opened the door. He stepped through, nodded to Hopps and Wilde, and added, still speaking to the rat, "We'll make this quick."

It was Hopps who ducked past him to enter the apartment. Jack took her place by the side of the door, standing under one of the flickering lamps. He leaned back against the wall, shut his eyes to avoid Wilde's searching stare, and scowled.

There were still thoughts rolling around inside his head, thoughts about desperation and leverage, but they were fading into the red fog again. Anger. Indignance. Exhaustion. Even the cigarettes added to it. He felt disgusted with himself. Less than a day, and he was back to needing them regularly.

After a while, he said, "We're goin' back to the Court."

There was a rustle of plastic and splashing water as Wilde turned to face him. "So soon? I was hoping to get to change my pants before we had to go back in there."

"You don't have to come up," said Jack. "Not investigating anything. Just… making sure things are taken care of."

He opened his eyes. Wilde was peering at him from beneath his hood, a curious expression on his face.

"Don't look at me like that," Jack snapped. "Not his fault his dad's probably face-down in a gutter somewhere. And even if he's not, he won't be back for a while. Not until this thing is done with." He shoved his free paw into his coat pocket and scowled up at the light. Wilde's sly grin brought back too many memories.

"You're gonna pay the kid's _rent,"_ said the fox, in a sing-song voice.

Jack snorted. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

"You're a regular saint, Stripes," said Wilde. "Just a complete puffball. I knew there was a reason I liked you." He brought a poncho-covered arm around and draped it over Jack's shoulders, squeezing playfully.

Reflex. Jack almost sent himself sprawling over the walkway as he surged out of Wilde's grip, snarling. He spun on the spot, standing ankle-deep in the water, one finger pointed up towards the fox's grin. The entire world was red and filled with thunder.

"Don't _touch_ me, fox," he growled.

He spotted Hopps standing in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes, at the same moment that he saw the look on Wilde's face.

It took a lot of effort to lower the finger.

He shut his eyes. Brought his breathing back under control. Ran through the count, again and again. Four. Eight. Four. Eight. Until the world was no longer red.

Then, without opening his eyes, he said, very slowly and clearly, "I'm sorry."

The rain, softer now, a light swishing sound rather than the drumming downpour it had been earlier, played over his shoulders.

"Hey," said Wilde. "Don't worry about it. No harm done. Won't happen again."

He opened his eyes.

Wilde was smiling. A bit awkwardly, yeah, but he was still smiling. And he had one hand outstretched towards Jack, palm up, fingers out.

Hopps was watching them both, looking completely lost.

After a while, Jack reached out, took Wilde's hand, and let himself be pulled back up onto the sidewalk.

"Arright," he said, without making eye contact with either of them. "So long as that's clear."

He turned up his collar again, gripped his cane, and turned back towards the King's Court. "Come on," he said. "One more stop."

The marten behind the desk in the King's Court was unable to conceal his surprise when the three of them came plodding back in out of the rain.

Jack barely glanced at him as he lurched towards the elevator. "Tell your boss we're comin' up," he said flatly. "And not to panic, 'cause we won't be takin' much of his time."

He didn't wait for a response. He just hit the button that closed the elevator doors behind them as the marten gaped at Hopps' back, then smacked the button for the penthouse floor, leaned on his cane, and frowned at the wall as the elevator rattled into life.

"Well, someone's very determined about this whole thing," said Wilde airily. He was holding up better than before, Jack noted. Tail still too twitchy, eyes a bit wide, but better. The smile was less forced. "I swear, Stripes. You are the angriest, fluffiest samaritan there's ever been."

"Is that really all this is about?" asked Hopps. She had both arms folded across her chest, and was looking sidelong at him. "Just paying rent?"

Jack snorted. "Yeah," he said. "That's really all it's about."

Hopps stared.

"That hard to believe that I actually care, Officer?" he said dryly.

Her nose twitched for a few seconds as she studied him. "No," she said. "No, it's not." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look up at Wilde. "I'm just worried about you seeing Reynard again. You don't tend to take it well."

"I take it fine," said Jack, without looking around. "When she doesn't catch me by surprise."

"You didn't last time we were here."

"Yes, I did." Jack removed his hat and ran his thumb over the brim, slicking some of the water off onto the floor of the elevator. "I might have let a bit of steam into my voice, but I asked the same questions you were going to. And I'm not about to pick a fight with Dawes."

"I know you don't _plan_ on it," said Hopps slowly, "but… Jack, she's _good_ at baiting you."

"Yep." He set his hat back on top of his head. Flicked the brim. "But I don't think she will."

The elevator pinged before either of them could comment, and the doors began to slide open. It was just as well. He could _feel_ them both winding up to ask him why he was so certain, and he didn't really have an answer. Not yet. Whenever he grabbed for it, his thoughts turned to smoke and drifted away.

But he did have suspicions.

He stepped out of the elevator ahead of them, lurched to the door, and thumped on it, once. "Dawes," he called. "It's Savage. Got some business to discuss with you."

"It's unlocked."

It wasn't Dawes' voice. It was _hers._

He didn't allow himself to hesitate.

The inside of the penthouse was as elegant as it had been when they had first seen it. It was like looking at what Harry Lime's Place had always wanted to be. The lights weren't harsh and buzzing, but low and welcoming, and she wrapped them around herself like a coat of sunsets.

She was fully dressed now, back into her familiar plum business suit, and perched behind the bar with a glass in front of her and a cigarette in her hand. She looked… tired, as she surveyed their arrival. Tired, but still imperious. Still like a queen among peasants. And, in here, she had a throne room worthy of her.

"Orson," she said, "is on the phone with a business associate, but you are all welcome here regardless. I'd ask if I could get you anything, but I'm afraid that there isn't much food in the kitchen at the moment, and we've already been over the matter of drinks. So what can I do for you, Officers?"

Her eyes went past him. She was watching Wilde and Hopps, and looking almost bored. As if dismissing him as unworthy of notice.

"Well, we're not exactly here on police business, sweetheart," he said, just loudly enough that she was forced to make eye contact with him. Her right ear twitched on the last word, just slightly. Just like it had back at the station.

He forced the spring to steady.

"Then what _are_ you here for, Jack?" she said. The air of disinterest was still there, but she was at least still looking at him. "To reminisce about old times? I would have thought you'd had enough of that by now."

"Oh, give it a rest, Rey," he said, as he limped forward. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure Hopps could come up with a few questions to ask you while I wait to talk to your new squeeze. But, in the meantime, I need a cigarette."

That got a slight, crooked smile, and Reynard reached into her pocket to withdraw the little black case she kept stocked with Ambassadors. "I thought you hated my brand," she said. "Something about it tasting like cotton candy, I believe you said."

"Yeah, well." Jack lowered himself onto the stool across from her, reached out, and opened up the case. "Been a long day. Beggars can't be choosers." He brought one of the cigarettes to his lips, shut the case, and pushed it back across to her. "Cheers."

"Of course." Reynard watched him for a moment, cradling her own cigarette between two fingers. Then she looked up to Hopps and Wilde. "Questions?"

Jack snorted, shook his head, and grinned crookedly as the two cops jerked back to life. "Oh, uh," said Hopps. "Yes. Are you familiar with a Mister Adam Falk? He's a tenant here. Lives with his son Edmond."

"Not as a tenant, no," said Reynard. She was back to sounding bored. "I knew him in another capacity."

"If she says 'boyfriend'," muttered Wilde in a stage whisper, "I swear I'm going to lose my-"

Hopps cut across him. "And that would be…?" She rolled her hands around one another, as if trying to reel the words out of the vixen.

Reynard simply laughed. A musical sound. "He is a criminal, Officer Hopps," she said. "And I am a criminal defense attorney. Is it so hard to imagine how we might have known one another?" She took a drag on her cigarette. "I defended him from some breaking and entering charges, among other, nastier things, about a year and a half ago. I haven't spoken to him since."

"Another of your clients?" Hopps straightened up, blinking.

"Well, I am not certain what 'another' means in this context," said Reynard, "but yes. One of my clients, certainly. Is that important?"

Jack took a drag on the borrowed cigarette. It was as foul and cloying as he remembered. No substance to it. Sweetness with nothing behind it.

"All three of the thugs that went after Effie were old clients of yours," he said flatly, as he leaned an elbow on the countertop. "And they all lived here. Now, I don't know about you, but that seems like a hell of a coincidence."

She looked back to him. "I would say that it doesn't sound like coincidence at all, Jack," she said. "But if you are attempting to insinuate that I have anything to do with it, I'm afraid that I am going to have to plead innocence once again. And if you actually _believe_ that I would have ever done anything to hurt Effie, I'm afraid that you never really knew me at all."

Jack snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time you put a knife in somebody you swore you'd never hurt."

It was a calculated thing. Cruel and barbed. Something that could have come from her. He hated himself for doing it, but the thunder in his head was building again. He still remembered the way Effie's body had felt in his hands.

He needed to know.

She stared at him, unblinking, for several seconds. Then she inhaled, slowly, and lowered her hand to grind out her barely-started cigarette in the ashtray.

And there it was. The little shudder, starting at her tail and going up to her jaw. The rapid, one-two blinks, and gritting of her teeth.

"You actually do believe that," she said quietly, without looking away from his face. "You think I could have done it."

He shrugged. Kept his face blank. "Everything comes back to you."

"The bugs in my office?"

Another shrug. "Could've been planted by anyone. Even you."

She frowned at him. He was impressed. There was still just enough rigidity, enough tightness, in her posture to give the idea that she was still fighting off tears. When she opened her mouth to speak again, her voice had just the slightest bit of shakiness to it, and was quiet enough that he could see Hopps and Wilde straining to hear.

"I did not kill Effie, Jack. Whatever else you think of me, whatever else I have done, I did not hurt her."

He had the reply ready. Had the next barb ready to fire. Didn't.

Instead, he wheeled away, pushed himself off the stool, and limped back into the center of the room, smoking the foul, sickly thing she had given him and scowling at Hopps and Wilde.

"Doesn't matter what I think of you," he said over his shoulder. "This is a police investigation. I'm just along for the ride."

He heard her sigh and stand. "In that case," she said stiffly, "I'll just go and see how long Orson will be. And you can all get back to your work."

There was a swishing sound as she stalked from the room, and then the click of a door.

Jack slumped.

Wilde grimaced and sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Wee-ell," he said. "I have to say, Stripes. I think you two are _really_ good for each other. Just absolutely tops."

 _"_ _Nick."_ Hopps elbowed him in the side.

"What?" said Wilde innocently. "I mean, can you imagine the dates? Sniping at one another over wine and candlelight? Dancing at arm's length so no one can go for the throat? Magical."

"Yeah," said Jack. "You know, Wilde, you were right."

The fox blinked. "I was?"

"Yep." Jack jabbed a finger towards Hopps. "You _are_ more aggravating than she is."

Hopps blinked, then allowed a nervous, somewhat embarrassed smile to creep onto her features. "Okay," she said. "So… obviously that was a plan or something. Right?"

"Something like that." Jack tugged the cigarette from between his lips and cupped it in his paw. The aftertaste was… painful. Brought up memories.

"Care to fill us in?" she continued, after a few seconds.

He blinked. Looked up. "Needed to get a reaction," he said flatly. "Piecing things together. This is how I work, Hopps. With people. With the way they react." He shook his head and waved the cigarette. "The… procedural stuff you guys do, that's important. But it's not how I work."

"Well, did you at least get something?" said Wilde.

"Yeah." Jack brought the cigarette back to his lips. Bit down on it. Tasted the bitterness. "When the big guys aren't there," he said, more quietly, "she's more open."

There was the sound of a door opening behind them. Jack looked back over his shoulder in time to see Reynard settling back onto her seat at the bar, her mask of disinterest quite firmly back in place.

Dawes stood in the doorway, one monstrous paw curled against the frame.

"Mister Savage," he rumbled. "You had something you wished to discuss?"

Dawes' office was as richly furnished as the rest of the penthouse. It was paneled in dark oak, with a large, ornately carved desk in the center of the room, and bookcase after bookcase filled with ledgers set against the walls.

The lion himself had taken up the seat behind the desk, in a huge velvet armchair that was taller than Jack. Even then, it creaked under his bulk as he lounged in it, leaning to one side with his chin resting on a fist.

He had, at least, dressed himself by now. His tie was undone, and he had left off the jacket of his suit, but he was wearing more than the bathrobe. With his mane properly combed, he looked almost regal.

But his eyes were cold and sharp as they surveyed Jack.

"You _can_ sit, you know," said Dawes. He extended his other hand towards the chair opposite him. "You don't have to stand."

"Think I'll stay upright, thanks," said Jack. He did remove his hat, though, and hung it on the corner of the chair. "Shouldn't take long."

"Mmn." Dawes's eyes never left his face. He did not smile. "Ariadne says that you aren't here on police business this time. What is it you want, exactly?"

"Right to business." Jack grinned harshly. He refused to lower his own eyes, though a voice in the back of his brain was insisting that he should have had Hopps and Wilde accompany him through the door. "I appreciate that. I'm here to talk money."

Dawes raised an eyebrow, lifted his chin off of his fist, and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry?" he said, after a moment.

Jack waved his hand. "Nothin' unusual," he said. "I'm just here to pay rent."

"You want to rent a room?" Dawes sounded disbelieving. His gaze was still sharper, now. Suspicious. Jack watched the way the muscles at the corner of his mouth tightened.

"Nah," he said. "I'm payin' somebody else's rent. Falk's. His kid's." He reached into a pocket. "For the next… three months, call it. What's it come to?"

The checkbook hit the desk with a quiet sound of paper. A moment later, the pen clicked in his paw.

Dawes continued to stare.

"Well, come on," said Jack. His voice was bright and cheery. "Three months' pay, all in advance."

"What is this about, Mister Savage?" said Dawes quietly.

"I did just say," said Jack.

Dawes turned his head to one side, watched Jack out of the corner of his eye. "You know Falk?"

"No." Jack spun the pen between his fingers.

He could see the suspicion behind Dawes' eyes. Could see the tension rising in his muscles. Could watch the little frown slipping onto his face, despite all efforts to stop it.

"Then why?" he growled.

Jack shrugged. "Because it's not the kid's fault his dad's gone missing," he said. "And I'd prefer he didn't end up on the street."

Dawes' eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. "And that is all?" he said.

"That's all." Jack kept his grin firmly in place.

Watching Dawes stand was like watching a mountain range assemble itself. When he leaned forward over the desk, supporting his weight on his knuckles, his teeth stopped at Jack's eye level.

"Did those officers put you up to this?" he said quietly.

Jack shook his head. "They think I'm crazy."

There were a few, long moments of silence, and smoke, and teeth. Then Dawes sank back into his chair, opened a drawer, and removed a ledger. A moment later, he slid it across the desktop and tapped his claw against one line.

"Three months," he said flatly. "Sign. Pay. And get out."

"That's all I wanted," said Jack.

And signed.

Back in the elevator, with still more thoughts clanking hollowly around the inside of his skull, Jack was desperately aware of his absolute need for sleep.

"Well," said Hopps. "That was… an adventure."

"Mmhm." Wilde flicked his tail back and forth for a moment. "I'll be honest, Carrots. I think we're gonna have to ask the chief about that raise if we're gonna keep doing this."

Jack snorted. "Please," he said. "I was the one dealing with Dawes."

"And how was our lion friend?" asked Wilde brightly.

"Suspicious," said Jack.

"Suspicious as in _he_ was acting suspicious," asked Hopps, "or as in he was suspicious of _you?"_

"Both," answered Jack. "He really doesn't like having us around. Even if I'm there to give him money."

"Yeah, but _you_ didn't have to deal with Reynard while you were in that office," said Wilde. "I've never met anyone who can make _silence_ sound venomous before."

Jack snorted. "Yeah," he said. "That's her."

"She wasn't _completely_ silent, though," said Hopps. "She did say that Nick was supposed to be keeping you out of trouble, or something."

"Did she?" asked Jack dully. He could feel his brain trying to shut down.

"Mmhm," said Wilde. "Same thing she said at the station. 'Watch that rabbit, Officer Wilde. He has a way of getting himself into all sorts of trouble.' Or something like that."

Later, as he stood in the doorway of his apartment, with the rain drizzling down off of the tiles above, and the police cruiser fading into the gloom, Jack stopped, removed his hat, and lifted an ear.

The need for sleep was still thumping heavily on his brain. He felt as though the inside of his skull were pulsing, very slowly, and seemed to view the entire world as though from a distance.

Upstairs, there was a bed waiting.

He shut his eyes. Listened.

After a very, very long time, he turned, opened the door to his office, and slipped inside.


	13. THIRTEEN

**THIRTEEN**

* * *

 _The leopard went up to the king, and in the presence of many other honored barons, he accused the king of treason, saying that he had treacherously taken his wife… then confirmed his intention to do battle by giving the king his gage._

 _...The king felt such shame and confusion in front of his subjects, and he was so angry with the leopard who had brought him such dishonor, that he could not contain himself, and in front of everybody he killed the leopard, who… could not defend himself. Everybody present in the square was angry at the crime the king had committed, and all desired to be beneath the dominion of another king, for it is a dangerous thing for a people to be subject to a king who is unjust, resentful, and traitorous._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

Nick's place wasn't much. It was a tiny little narrow two-story in one of the lower-rent districts of Savannah Central, where the urban development wasn't quite so heavy. The paint was peeling a bit and the lawn could use a trim, but it was definitely an improvement over his previous living arrangements. It'd always suited him fine.

Until the previous night, anyway. Suddenly, what seemed almost palatial for a bachelor fox who didn't get visitors all that often seemed... intensely inadequate.

Which was pretty stupid, he had to admit. Judy was the one who lived in a broom closet. With cardboard walls. And one lamp. This place was a five-star hotel compared to hers.

Still, he found himself wishing that he had found the time to do some vacuuming or something before she became an impromptu roommate.

There hadn't been any discussion about her going back to her little shoebox. They just swung by an all-night takeout place and drove back to Nick's, making progressively less and less eye contact as they got closer.

As they rounded the last street corner, and the wheels of the cruiser sluiced through a puddle, Judy broke the silence by coughing into a fist.

"So," she said, far too casually. "Are you going to insist on using the couch tonight as well, or…"

There was no answer. After a moment, she turned to look at him again, and her expression shifted to one of concern. "Nick?"

He was leaning too forward over the wheel, he knew, and he could feel the fur on the back of his neck standing up. Ears flat, too.

"Nick?" she said again, more insistently this time. She followed his gaze. Blinked. Squinted through the windshield.

"Oh," she muttered. "Well, that's weird."

There was a long, sleek limousine parked just outside his apartment. It glistened in the light like the shell of a very expensive beetle. And, beside it, there were three massive shapes.

"Koslov," said Judy. She sounded only vaguely nonplussed, which he considered rather inappropriate considering the sheer amount of polar bear that was waiting for them less than a block away. "What's he doing here?"

"Oh, well, gee, Carrots," Nick hissed. He'd slowed the cruiser to a crawl, as close as physically possible to a full stop as possible without actually being one. "Let's think for a minute here. What could the most horrifying mobster in the city and his two cronies want with a pair of cops?"

"Oh, calm down, Nick," she said, with a wave of her paw. "They're obviously not here for a hit, right? They wouldn't just wait outside your apartment to ice you. If they wanted you dead, you'd never even know it."

"That's _very_ comforting, Officer," Nick grated, between clenched teeth. "Have you ever considered a career in counseling and therapy? You could do a lot of good there."

"And," she went on, ignoring this, "I'm Judy Junior's godmother, right? Which makes you godfather. Sort of. By proxy."

"Is that how that works?" Nick's voice came out as a strangled whisper. He could see Koslov's eyes fixed on him through the windshield.

"Yes," said Judy. "Boyfriend status. Official and everything, as of last night. Lucky you. Therefore, godfather, therefore family, therefore not about to get shoved in the trunk of that limo and never seen again, right? Obviously." She paused. "I do have to admit, though. It's strange. Why couldn't he just have had Fru-Fru call me?"

He managed to tear his gaze away from Koslov long enough to give her a completely disbelieving look, mouth agape.

"You know, Carrots," he managed, after a minute, "you are probably the only cop in the city that could _possibly_ react that way to having _Koslov turn up in your driveway unannounced."_

"Oh, please," she said. She folded her arms over her chest and smirked at him. "He's a big softy and you know it. You were at the baby shower, too."

Nick shook himself and turned to face forward again. Koslov hadn't moved. He was just… staring. Standing under the street lamp and staring.

"Okay," he said. "No. We're not having this conversation. What we're doing is turning this car around and driving away. Probably not stopping for… a week, at least. And we're changing our names, and never coming back. And we might actually get to celebrate our birthdays next year."

"Are you done panicking yet?"

"No," he snapped, as he, against his better judgment, turned his car onto the driveway. Gravel crunched under the tires. "You're obviously not doing enough of it, so I've got to do the panicking for both of us. It's really me that's the victim here, if you think about it. And I already spent several hours today having to watch you get way too close to Dawes, so I'll thank you not to make this any worse. Just- pfffaah."

Koslov still hadn't moved.

"Just come on," she said, with a roll of her eyes accompanying. "We'll see what they want and then… I'll make some calls about getting warrants and stuff."

 _"_ _Do not talk about warrants in front of the mob, Carrots,"_ he hissed.

She ignored him, kicked her door open, and bounced out, holding the bag full of takeout in one hand.

Koslov's gaze swung around to fall on her like a searchlight.

"Koslov," she said brightly. "Long time no see."

Nick's fingers went white-knuckle on the wheel, just for a moment. The image of Judy walking out in front of Koslov, as though absolutely unaware of any kind of danger, was going to be haunting him for a while. Same as the way she had kept on pushing Dawes. That rabbit didn't know the meaning of the word "fear".

Which was… amazing, obviously. But also absolutely horrifying.

Why was everyone she insisted on antagonizing so _tall?_

"Miss Hopps." Koslov grunted the words. The sound of it brought Nick out of his little miniature nightmare.

By the time the door was open, and he was sauntering out to stand beside her, he'd gotten his face under control again. He'd put the mirrored glasses back on, though. Dark out, but it probably wouldn't hurt to have an extra layer of mask over his eyes right about now.

"Mister Koslov," he said. His voice was cool and collected. "You know, if you have something you want to talk about with the police, there's a handy little phone number I could give you. Only three digits. Easy to remember."

It was a shallow attempt at bravado, but it did, at least, pull Koslov's eyes away from Judy. That was very definitely a good thing, even if it meant that they were on him instead. He'd had far too much of watching his rabbit standing in front of mammals that could snap her in half with one hand for the day.

He realized that the rain had stopped at the same moment that he realized he had thought the words "my rabbit" without even thinking about it.

Koslov saved him again. "Mister Wilde," he said. "It is so good to see you again."

His expression did not change as he said it. He remained utterly impassive, wearing that same steady frown that he'd worn as he watched Mister Big's other cronies dangling Nick and Judy over the ice tank. Completely unfeeling.

Nick wondered, behind his glasses, whether or not this was preferable to Dawes' barely-restrained hostility.

"Koslov," he said. Still cool as a cucumber. He was rather proud of that. His tail was barely even twitching. "You get lost on the way to Tundratown or something?"

The polar bear's expression did not change.

"Mister Big would like to thank you," he said flatly.

Both Nick and Judy exchanged glances.

"For what?" she said.

"For finding the time in your busy schedule," Koslov said, "to visit him on such short notice."

He took a step to the side, and one of the cronies tugged open the door to the back of the limo behind him.

Nick was very, very glad that he had chosen to wear the mirrored glasses. Even with them on, he was pretty sure that his expression was something pretty close to a death rictus.

"Oh?" he managed. "Well, really. It's no trouble. I'm just a swell guy that way. Always making time for the family." And he offered Koslov his most winning grin.

The expression still did not change.

Nick cleared his throat. "Mind filling me in on why I feel this sudden urge to go visiting, though? I seem to be having some trouble with memory, on account of being kidnapped out of my apartment driveway."

 _"_ _Nick,"_ said Judy. She stepped in to jab him in the side. "Relax. We've ridden in these things before. If Mister Big wants to see us, I'm sure he has a-"

"You will not be joining Mister Wilde," grunted Koslov.

Judy paused, nose twitching. "I'm sorry?"

"You will not be joining Mister Wilde." It sounded exactly the same the second time around.

That, finally, got Judy to pause. Both of her ears twitched slowly for a few moments. Then she turned to look at Nick, all confusion and concern.

"Why not?" she asked slowly, without looking away from him. She was even up on her toes now, the way she always got when she felt threatened.

On his behalf, usually. If keeping his legs from collapsing underneath him wasn't taking up so much of his concentration, he would probably have found that incredibly touching.

"Because Mister Wilde has decided to undertake this particular trip alone," said Koslov. He didn't even look at Judy as he said it. His eyes stayed on Nick as he extended a massive paw towards the open door. "And he has decided to go _now."_

One of the interchangeable lunkheads that Koslov used as extra muscle was, very suddenly, looming out of the dark at Nick's back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said quickly. Both of his paws came up reflexively, as if the little voice in the back of his brain genuinely thought he was capable of warding off one of the bears for even a second. "Okay. Give me a second. I'm rethinking that decision. I mean, I haven't got anything to wear or-"

There was a very, very heavy paw on his shoulder. The limousine door was growing closer by the second, yawning wide like some huge, dark, hungry mouth.

And then there was Judy, standing in front of the door with her arms spread out to either side, blocking the way. Nick could swear that he heard a chorus of angels sounding their trumpets somewhere in the distance.

 _"_ _Koslov,"_ she snapped. "This is _not_ how we do things."

And then the angels died as Koslov's massive, monstrous paw came down and, almost gently, closed two claws on the collar of Judy's uniform, lifting her casually aside.

Nick wasn't sure what happened first. It was probably his heart stopping, for just a moment, as every image that had run through his head in Dawes' apartment came rushing back in a great flood. And then there was a blur of sheer, icy, panic-fueled motion, and he had twisted out of the goon's grip, and darted forward, and wrapped both arms around his rabbit, and twisted _again_ and danced away, off balance and eyes wide and breathing harsh, and then she was behind him and _his_ arms were spread now and, without him ever really consciously deciding to do so, he'd peeled back his lips and exposed his teeth and spat the words "Don't you _dare"_ up into the face of what was quite possibly the most dangerous mammal in the city.

And Koslov's expression was still completely, absolutely blank.

Nick was vaguely aware of the growing clammy feeling that indicated a cold sweat, but whatever burst of raw adrenaline had just carried him across the gravel drive and set his limbs to shaking was still pumping through his veins. He was working on something approaching autopilot, and when his mouth opened to speak on its own again, he decided to just let the words have their way.

"She's coming with me," he said. His voice was surprisingly firm. "Whatever Big's got to say, he can say to both of us."

His left paw moved and lifted the mirrored glasses away.

Koslov did not blink. But he was the first to move, long after Nick thought that his own nerve must surely have given out.

He turned away. Pressed one thick, dark-clawed finger against his tiny black earpiece. Rumbled out a handful of sentences in a language that Nick didn't understand. Paused. Turned back.

And gestured towards the open door once again.

It was actually a rather comfortable limousine, oversized furnishings aside. It was more like a train than anything, with separate compartments for its passengers. Koslov and his goons took the front, leaving Nick and Judy in the rear by themselves, seated on the cushions that were large enough to hold both of them at once.

They'd ignored the seat belts entirely. Or, at least, Nick had. Judy might have considered trying to buckle herself in regardless of size differentials. He hadn't really noticed. The adrenaline had bled out of his brain all at once. When he finally came back to something resembling proper consciousness, he was sitting in the corner of the seat, his back pressed into the join between cushion and door, and as close to wrapped around Judy as it was physically possible for him to be.

Eventually, she said, with far more affection in her voice than he had any right to expect from something so small and soft, "You are having a rough day."

His laugh was bitter, and contained a bleeding edge of manic hysteria that made him flinch inwardly to hear it. "So tell me, Carrots," he said, "is this death wish thing species-wide, with rabbits, or is it just you and Jack? 'Cause if I have to deal with any more of you crazy little fuzzballs today, I think my heart will explode."

"Koslov wouldn't have hurt me," she said softly. She moved against him, and he felt her nestle in with the top of her head just brushing the fur on the underside of his chin.

The seat of the limo wasn't nearly as comfortable as his old couch. That had been broken in after years of gentle use, and it had molded around him - around her, around _them_ \- perfectly. These seats were expensive, but stiff from lack of use, and they were both still wearing their soaking uniforms, and Koslov and his goons were almost certainly watching through the little panel of tinted black glass in the door leading to the front compartment.

And he found it very, very difficult to care.

"Maybe," he muttered. "Maybe not. You trust people too easy, Carrots."

"Seems to be working out fine so far," she said nonchalantly. He felt her arms go around his middle, squeeze gently. "I know at least one of them that hasn't let me down yet."

Nick huffed gently. Squeezed his eyes shut. Mumbled. "You know what I'm talking about."

This time, it was her turn to say "Maybe." She released her grip on him, put one paw on his chest, and leaned back. Waited until he opened his eyes, and looked down.

 _God_ how he didn't deserve that look.

"But I know something else, too," she said. Her smile felt like it was going to break him. "I've got the best partner on the force. I've got his back - and he's got mine."

She lifted her other paw and tapped the end of his nose. "I'm not afraid because I know you're there. You've pulled my grits out of the fire enough times for me to know I can always, always count on you, Nick. And that means a lot."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less nerve-wracking watching you try to commit suicide by mobster." He was surprised to find himself smiling as he said it. "I swear, Carrots. Two in one day? It's like you're _trying_ to drive me insane. You-" this time, he was the one who tapped her on the nose "-are an adrenaline addict."

"Absolutely," she said brightly.

"And utterly shameless."

"Entirely."

"And between your insanity and Stripes' death wish, I'm getting stretched a little thin over here."

"Yeah," she said. "I noticed." Another press on his chest, and then - he groaned with the sudden sensation of chill against his chest - she was scooting away, across the seat, and her ears were coming up again. "Which is part of why I wanted to come."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I don't," she said, as she raised a paw to try and smooth down the fur on top of her head that her nuzzling had left out of place. "I mean… I… don't know, Nick. I don't _get_ him. I don't think he's _bad._ You were right. He obviously cares. Paying for Falk's rent was incredibly sweet of him. And he's… he's _trying._ He's just not very _good_ at it." She shook her head. "I've never seen anyone on such an obvious hair trigger."

Nick scratched idly at the underside of his chin. "He's got anger issues," he said idly. "But he knows it. Been to therapy."

She shot him a sidelong look. "How do you know that?"

"He counts," said Nick. "When he breathes. Not always out loud, but you can tell if you listen. He stops breathing normally, and starts timing it. It's a pretty common anger management technique."

Judy grinned crookedly. "Well, look at you," she said. "He's not the only one who pays attention, I guess."

"Nope." Nick returned the grin. He was better at it. One of the upsides of the teeth. "But the point is, whether or not you _get_ him, I'm pretty sure he knows how bad he is. And he's genuinely trying, even if it doesn't always work. I can appreciate that. And besides-" he shifted on the seat, turned to peer out of the window "-I think he likes us."

Judy snorted. "How do you figure that? He about tore your head off when you put your arm around him back there."

"Yeah," said Nick casually, "but he took my hand afterward. And he apologized, and meant it. An actual, sincere apology is a pretty rare thing, Carrots. Counts for a lot in my book."

He squinted, and lifted a paw to wipe the sudden fog from the glass. They'd crossed the border into Tundratown. The sweltering heat of the rest of the city was… less, here, but it wasn't entirely gone. Even Zootopia's legendary climate control systems had their limits. Outside, everything was fog and slush.

"Yeah," said Judy quietly from behind him. "It always did, didn't it?"

He blinked. Looked back. She was watching him with her head on one side, smiling another of those vaguely prideful little smiles. He coughed.

"Well, I mean," he said. "You've forgiven me for all sorts of stuff."

"Yeah, but _you_ forgave _me_ for worse." She reached out, took his paw, and wrapped her tiny little fingers through his as far as they would go. "You're amazing, you know," she murmured. "I hope you know that."

"Oh, I dunno," he said brightly. "I mean, yeah, the whole Bellwether thing was bad and all, but I still think I beat you with the Grizzoli photos."

She narrowed her eyes. "I never said I forgave you for that."

"Oh, come on, Carrots." He pursed his lips and pouted at her. "It's been _months-"_

"And you'll be carrying that to your _grave,_ Nicholas," she said with a growl. Then she squeezed his paw, released it, and straightened up again. "But that's not the point. We got sidetracked. The point _is,_ I wanted to come because… well, there's no way this doesn't have something to do with all the rest, is there?"

He flicked an ear. "Either I'm getting old and slow, or you rabbits are just that much faster than me," he said. "Because you and Stripes both are making all sorts of leaps that I'm just not following."

"It's the legs," said Judy smoothly. "But really, Nick. Think about it. Reynard acts like every mob lady in every movie ever, and Dawes is obviously a criminal, and the elephant wears more jewelry than Mister Big, and Miss Perine had a hit put out on her, and it looks like people were blackmailed into doing it. This has 'mob business' written all over it."

Nick stared at her for a long time. Then, when he had found his voice again, he croaked, "Please tell me you're not about to try for a repeat of the ice pit incident."

She frowned at him as if he were personally responsible for ruining her birthday party. "No," she said. "Of course not. But you have to admit, it's suspicious."

"Carrots," he said, "I really don't think the Tundratown family's got anything to do with this."

"And why not?" Her nose was twitching again, and she was nearly bouncing on the seat.

"Because," he continued patiently, "nobody _cares_ about the Marches, Carrots. There's no money in the Marches. The only kinds of crooks you get down there are the ones who couldn't hack it anywhere else. You don't-"

He stopped. Blinked.

"Ooh. You got something." Judy shifted on the seat again, turned fully towards him with her legs drawn up underneath her and a big, buck-toothed grin splitting her features. "Come on. Share."

"Reynard," he said slowly. He held up one finger. "Lawyer, right? And a good one. Gets her clients off easy for what should be long sentences. But I hadn't heard of her before this. Which I thought, hey, not that surprising. I stayed out of the Marches, and that seems to be who she worked for most. But…" He spread both hands and whispered, "Then who was paying her bills? Because she sure as multiplying didn't work for cheap. I saw the photos of her office. And I don't think any of our three dead perps had ten thousand dollars lying around under the cushions."

Under him, he could feel the limo slowing, coming to a halt, but Judy was standing up on the seat now, wearing the ferocious superhero grin that she always wore when she thought they'd found something important. "So there _was_ money," she said. _"Is_ money. Coming from somewhere. We just need to find out where."

"Yeah," said Nick. One of his ears swiveled as the sound of footsteps approached from outside, and his own grin slowly drained away.

"Let's just… hope it isn't coming from our friends outside, okay?" he whispered.

Jack Savage was painfully aware of the fact that he wasn't thinking straight.

He felt drunk, though he had resisted the urge to actually do any drinking. He should probably have been proud of that, but he wasn't. Everything was distant and hazy, from the slow music drifting into his bedroom through the open window to the sensation of his revolver's weight in his hands. Every motion required a moment's conscious thought before it could be executed, as if he were operating some sort of heavy machinery.

Opening the little black case, with its brass dials and locks, had been a challenge.

Now the contents were arrayed before him, set in their accustomed spots along the dark wood of his coffee table. Camera. Expensive, but not fancy. Durable and reliable, with lots of storage and a good lens rather than any major features. A few small, black notebooks, small enough to fit in a pocket, worn from use. A heavy-duty multitool. A second, smaller camera. A pocket recorder.

There was another spot in the case, a little hollow in the lining that matched the shape of the revolver in his hand. The cylinder clicked as he spun it, checked the mechanism. Slotted the bullets back into their places. Clicked it shut.

And there was the little black box, just over an inch on each side. It was open.

It was only a small diamond. He couldn't have afforded anything more. But it still sparkled in the secondhand neon leaking through his window.

One of the notebooks was open as well. Most of the pages were already full, but he'd found a few towards the back and made a few careful notes.

It wasn't really necessary. Hadn't been for years. He had a good memory. But getting the thoughts down on paper helped, sometimes, to straighten them out. And that was what he needed.

He sighed, leaned forward, and lowered his head. The top of the revolver tapped against his head, just between his ears, slowly, rhythmically, in time with the music outside.

His eyes roamed over the blank floorboards, but he didn't really see them. The notebook pages floated through the dull haze in his head.

She was running them through a maze.

She'd built it out of lies and contradictions. It was held together by the fact that he didn't know which parts of what she told him were true and which were lies. Even the little shudder he'd seen a few hours ago, back in Dawes' penthouse, could have been false.

Could have been.

Slowly, he reached out and collected his disparate thoughts. Dragged them in. Began to piece them together.

She'd come to him. She'd said she wanted him out of whatever mess this was. Assume that was a lie. She had to have known it would bring him in. Build off of that. She wanted him to come looking.

Effie had been killed despite finding nothing. Assume it wasn't Ariadne. She was cold and heartless, but she wouldn't have hurt Effie.

Kelly. Bannion. Falk. No ties to Effie. No motives. Hired. Ordered. Desperate. _Suicidally_ desperate. Strong-armed into it by someone who knew where they lived and knew what they couldn't afford to lose.

 _She_ knew. It would have been so _easy_ for her. Hell, he'd taught her how to dig-

He squeezed his eyes shut, scowled at nothing as a trumpet wailed outside.

Wasn't her. Take a step back. Build on that. Make it a rock, because if it wasn't, if she actually _had_ ordered the hit, if the Ariadne Reynard that he knew had been that much of a lie-

All right. Other names. That left… Dawes, and Cairo.

Dawes was paranoid, but that meant almost nothing on its own. Possibly violent. Definitely a thug. He could still see the way those fingers moved, as if they wanted nothing more than to close around his throat, just for being there.

He'd seen men like Dawes before. They usually didn't last. They were the ones that the gangs threw out for being too crazy. For being uncontrollable.

And it meant nothing. The Dooryard was a slum. Filled with criminals and desperate people who would turn a blind eye. Drug runs. Back-alley fencing operations. More. Lots of ways that Dawes could supplement his income from the rent, outfit that penthouse like a palace. Lots of reasons Dawes would want to keep the cops out.

If she got in close with him, she had everyone in the Dooryard right at her fingertips. One hit would have been so, so _easy-_

He set the pistol down on the coffee table with a dull thunk.

Cairo. Complete unknown. Nothing but a proxy connection and a name. Nothing to go on. Nothing to work with. No reason to consider him a suspect, except that Jack was desperate and grasping for any straw that-

He snarled, lurched upright, and began to pace along the floorboards. He left his cane propped against the armrest. Every so often, his eyes flickered towards the window.

It was all a maze. Every bit of it. She'd built it all, and she'd pulled him in, and now he was running it blind - but despite the backtracking, the way he kept grabbing his thoughts and pulling them away, trying to send them off onto another track, he was starting to see the end of it.

Easy. _So_ easy.

Get in good with the man who ran the Dooryard. Easy foothold on all the poor, desperate schmucks she'd ever need. They even paid to move in, thanked her for the coffin. Grinned like idiots while she slipped the noose around their necks, and by the time they realized that their lives were in her hands, that their _families_ belonged to her, it was far, far too late.

And she had the courtroom clout to keep the cops out of everything they got up to on her behalf. She bled them dry, blood and dollars, and built a palace in the King's Court with the profit, smiling like a shark.

But she had to share it with Dawes.

She didn't have it in her to actually love somebody.

So she'd play the trump card. The one she'd been keeping in her back pocket for years. Sucker in the stupid rabbit, the one who never knew when to keep his nose out. The one she'd spent years getting her claws into, so deep that he'd come running the moment she called, no matter how much he hated himself for it. She'd wired him up like a bitter little marionette, and now she was using him to call down the law on Dawes.

Because she knew he'd never take her in.

And that left her with the Dooryard, and a little empire in the gutters all her own.

All it would have taken was one little compromise. One friendship sacrificed for a lifetime of easy money, rolling in from people who didn't have the means or the spirit left to tell her no.

The floorboards creaked under his feet. His walking was arrhythmic, one- _two_ one- _two_. He hated the sound. Kicked the cane aside in passing. Let it clatter across the planks.

More hazy thoughts. There was a bed in the back room, but it was too big, too empty.

He couldn't stomach it right now.

There were no lights on in his apartment itself. He'd left the blinds slightly parted. Let the crackling neon across the street serve as his light. Harsh, crackling, _sharp_ light. Sharper than knife-edges.

He lurched to a halt, staring at nothing. Staring at something a long way off.

She'd built him a maze to run. One way in, one way out. Her way.

Jack Savage's upper lip curled back in a harsh, jagged little sneer.

"The hell with you," he said.

He reached down, seized the revolver, and shoved it back into his shoulder holster. Then the rest: coat, hat, notebooks, cameras. Cane.

Ring box.

The rain had stopped when he stepped out into the streets again, but his head was still full of fog and thunderstorms and the creak of metal under stress. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the handful of drunks that had staggered far enough away from their bars to end up on his street without really seeing them.

Both ears were up. Both were turning, very slowly.

Listening.

It was easier, without the rain.

"Arright," he said. His voice was loud and sharp, and carried in the dark. "Come and get me."

And he strode into the darkness of the alleyway as if daring anyone to stop him.


	14. FOURTEEN

**FOURTEEN**

* * *

 _All that night the king was very irate and angry. The next morning he called a meeting of his council, and asked them to advise him concerning the message from the king of men, in which he asked to be sent a bear and a wolf._

" _My lord," said the serpent, who was the wisest councilor the king had, "there are many bears and wolves in your country - from whom you can easily choose whatever ones you think it would be best to send."_

 _Dame Reynard, however, spoke up and said that the king of men was the noblest and most powerful king on earth. "And this is why, my lord, you must send the wisest and strongest bear and wolf you have, for if you don't, you might find yourself blamed and even in danger."_

 _The king asked Dame Reynard which were the wisest and strongest bear and wolf in his kingdom, and Dame Reynard replied, saying that since there was a bear and a wolf on his council, it would seem only logical that each was wiser and stronger than any other bear or wolf in his kingdom._

 _The king approved of the idea of sending the bear and wolf who were members of his council, and neither the bear nor the wolf tried to get out of going, for both prided their honor and feared that, if they tried to get out of it, they might be accused of cowardice. Dame Reynard then said to the king that since he was sending the king of men the noblest personages in his whole country, it was only right that he also send the wisest messengers of his court to bring the bear and the wolf as presents. The king also approved this idea, and told the snake to act as ambassador..._

\- Ramon Llull, _The Book of the Beasts_

* * *

The alleyways of the Marches were like a second home.

The rain had stopped, but the occasional droplet still splashed onto the uneven brickwork of the alleyway from the overflowing gutters above. Drainpipes rattled, somewhere nearby. Rusted metal pinged as the fire escapes shed their coatings of rainwater. The crumbling brick against his back was uneven and uncomfortable. The air was hot, muggy, and full of stale smells. Grime and broken glass littered the broken roads.

This far into the back streets, there was only the occasional flicker of distant neon, and a few patches of cloudy sky overhead where the buildings' crazy leans didn't quite block out the view entirely. There were no stars.

And, with his collar turned up and his hat pulled low so that only his nose and mouth were visible between them, Jack Savage caught himself grinning again.

The rhythm of his footsteps was still off, still awkward, but it was motion. It appeased the spring in his chest, the creaking engine that it drove. His body demanded sleep, but he ignored it. There were more important things than sleep.

There were more _satisfying_ things than sleep.

Something clanked, off down an alley to his left. His ear twisted around to follow the sound, and he grinned just a bit more widely as he wheeled about and set off down another alleyway.

Hopps had been right. They were being followed. But the Marches were _his_ place. These were his streets. He knew every little hiding place, every back alley, every twist and turn and trick. He'd danced this dance before, and he knew exactly how it went.

The one following him didn't.

Jack slammed his cane down onto one of the metal garbage bins, waited for a moment to listen to the sound reverberating, and set off down another side street. Then, in the near-total darkness of the Marches' back alleys, he slipped into the shelter of a crumbling doorway, unfastened the securing strap on his shoulder holster, and started to count under his breath.

The Big estate was a work of art.

From the outside, it could almost have been a cathedral. After spending what felt like an eternity down in the Marches, where Dawes' little nest in the King's Court was the closest thing to real wealth to be found, the sight of Mister Big's mansion towering overhead, with its high windows, peaked roofs, and old-world elegance was almost impossible for Nick to process. The icicles and snow hanging from its eaves made it look almost otherworldly, and sent the warm light from within spiraling off into crazy, beautiful shapes against the dark.

Nick just wished that they were actually in a position to see more than the exterior.

What was a heat wave for the rest of Zootopia represented only a slight rise in Tundratown's ambient temperatures. It was enough to turn the streets to slush and turn what would have been a blizzard to mere freezing rain, but the city's climate control had survived worse in the past. Here, away from the main roads, it was still close to true arctic.

Even with the limo's heaters running, Nick was reduced to huddling in the seat corner, wrapping both arms around himself, and trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

His uniform was still damp from the earlier rain. He was sure he could feel it freezing over his fur. And the huge, dark shape that was standing just beside the door outside, with just enough of its body in front of the edge of the door to keep it from opening, made it pretty clear that their host was in no hurry to get them in out of the cold.

The polar bear didn't even look down when Nick rapped his knuckles on the window. He'd long since given up trying.

Judy was pacing the length of the seat, head down, paws folded behind her, marching to a rhythm in her head as she frowned at the air. He could see her nose twitching every time that she looked up to steal a glance out of the window.

"This is getting ridiculous," she snapped, after what felt like an eternity. "How long are they just going to leave us sitting here? _Why_ are they even leaving us sitting here? _He_ called _us."_

Nick rubbed his paws together for a few seconds, trying to ignore the numbness settling in his tail. It was even more damp than the uniform. "Well, I think he called _me,_ Carrots," he said. "I don't think he knew about the whole package deal thing. Still a relatively recent development."

"Well, yeah." Judy's voice was almost dismissive, but she stopped in her marching, folded her arms over her chest, and turned to stare at him as she said it. "But he knows we're partners, right? He has to know that we'd tell each other about whatever it's for. Especially because they brought me along in the end. So why not just call me?"

Nick opened his mouth, then shut it again. Then repeated the motion. Then grimaced.

Judy tilted an ear. "You know you can just say it, Nick. Whatever it is."

No one should have eyes that big and shiny.

He took a deep breath. "Maybe," he said, like picking his way across a set of treacherous stepping stones, "this is the sort of visit that I wouldn't tell you about."

She squinted at him. "What?"

"That _he thinks_ I wouldn't tell you about," Nick amended hastily. "I don't do that kind of stuff any more, Judy. Really. Scout's honor." He held up two fingers and gave her a weak smile, which quickly vanished as his teeth started to chatter again.

Her expression immediately softened. "I know, Nick," she said. One step closer, and then her tiny paw came up to wrap around his two extended fingers, squeeze them gently, and push them down against his chest. "Really. I do. I _trust_ you. I'm confused, not upset."

Nick let out a long breath between his teeth, extracted his fingers, and gave her another, stronger smile. "I know, Carrots," he said. The sudden feeling of warmth in his chest made the words come out tight and quiet. "And, for what it's worth, that means a lot."

"I'm glad," she said quietly. A small smile quirked the corners of her mouth upward. "Now tell me what it is you actually meant before we get distracted."

He blinked. "Oh," he said. "Uh. Right." He tugged his fingers out of her paw, a bit reluctantly, shifted on the seat, and continued, "Well, I can think of two possibilities. Either somebody I knew from before we met's gotten into something messy, and dropped my name, or…" He grimaced. "Or we're back to the ice bath possibility."

Judy snorted and crossed her arms. "Nick, we've been over this," she said. "Mister Big isn't about to toss us-"

"Toss _me,_ Carrots." Nick folded his paws and tapped his forefingers together, brow knitted in concentration. He wasn't really looking at her. His eyes were on the far window, on the distant lights of Tundratown proper. "They came to my place, not yours. And they didn't call you. Koslov only brought you along after we put up a fight, and he called in for it first. Even assuming you're as ironclad protected as you think you are, _I'm_ not."

"Yes," said Judy patiently, "but he _did_ bring me along eventually. If this _was_ about icing you, why would he do that? And why would he even want you iced to begin with? We don't work the Tundratown beat. You haven't _done_ anything to him. It doesn't make any sense."

Nick gave a soft, chuffing little laugh. "Carrots," he said, looking back to her with a grin, "what about our lives for the past few days has made any sense at all?"

"Oh, I don't know." She was grinning back now, and standing there with her hips cocked out to one side. "I can think of at least one thing."

Something throbbed in his chest, and Nick had to clear his throat and look away quickly before those big, shining, purple eyes completely hypnotized him. "Okay," he said. "Point. But, uh, probably not the best time to dwell on it too much, Carrots."

She gave him what she probably thought was a playful punch on the shoulder. _"Relax,_ Slick. You're looking for reasons to be worried. Just breathe."

"I'm not _looking_ for reasons," muttered Nick as he rubbed his arm. "They just keep turning up. This whole case is driving me crazy."

Judy tilted her head to one side. "I thought you said that this didn't have anything to do with the case."

He sighed, lifted his paws, and rubbed at his eyes. "It doesn't," he said. "Or… I don't know, Fluff. Nothing makes any sense. And… I mean, how many times have you come to the Big place and been kept _waiting?"_

"So he's busy," said Judy. She lowered herself, cross-legged, onto the seat beside him. "A minor logistics problem isn't exactly reason to start getting paranoid, Nick."

He ignored her. There was something floating around in the back of his brain. Several somethings, all dancing away whenever he tried to actually think about them. There were snatches of words in Jack's voice, and Judy digging around inside the pathetic little box where Eddie Falk lived, and Koslov's huge, broad, blank face, and Reynard's eyes, trying to demand something from him.

He groaned and pressed his fingertips against his temples. "I'm missing something," he mumbled. "We're going wrong somewhere. Something's happening here that we're not seeing."

"Are we talking _here_ here," said Judy slowly, "or Marches here?"

"Both," said Nick, without looking up. "Neither. Same thing. I don't know. I'm going _crazy_ here, Carrots." He sighed, leaned back against the cushion, and let his arms fall to his side. "It's kind of incredible," he said, as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, "that we know all three of the guys who made the hit and still have no actual idea what's going on."

"And we've been freezing to death in a limo for the last half an hour," Judy added. "Don't forget that. It's kind of important."

"Right." Nick rolled his head to the side and stared blankly out the window. Outside, the mansion glittered in the dark. "Of course. Can't forget that." His breath fogged the glass as he spoke, making the lights look hazy and unreal.

The front door opened. A rectangle of light bloomed in the darkness.

Nick blinked. Stared. Blinked again. Sat up. "Carrots," he said sharply.

"What?" He felt the seat shift under him as Judy moved, trying to lean past him to see out. "What is it?"

There was a shape visible in the doorway. Two shapes, actually. One, huge and hulking, standing just to one side, could only have been Koslov. Behind him, there was another, even larger shape that could only have been an elephant. But, beside him, standing with one paw on the door handle, looking very small in comparison, was-

"Reynard," he breathed.

" _What?"_ All at once, Nick found himself being clambered over. He made a choking, spluttering noise in the back of his throat and flailed slightly, but leaned back to make room for Judy all the same. She stood on his legs and practically pushed her nose up against the window, squinting through the foggy glass. "You've got to be kidding me," she whispered. "Is there anywhere in the city this vixen _doesn't_ go?"

"Apparently not," grunted Nick. He shifted slowly under her and kept his muzzle up, trying to keep his nose out of her tail. "She certainly seems to get around. "

"Har har," said Judy, without looking back.

"What?" Nick blinked again, then said, "Oh. Didn't even- wasn't thinking of that, actually, Carrots." He gripped her hips in both paws, lifted her up, and moved her a few inches forward so that he could join her in staring out of the frosted windowpane.

Reynard was still standing in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder towards… Koslov, probably, or the elephant. Cairo, possibly. It was hard to tell. At this distance, they were barely more than shapes, and the wide-brimmed hat and heavy coat Reynard was wearing made the details of her posture impossible to make out. But he could, at least, make out movement. And stance.

She was talking. Arguing, maybe. Standing at a slight crouch, looking aggravated.

"That's Cairo," Judy muttered. "It's got to be Cairo. What do you think they're saying?"

"Not a clue," said Nick. "You're the one with the built-in sonar. You tell me."

His voice was distant and thoughtful.

"Even my powers have limits." Judy wiped a paw over the glass, trying to wipe away some of the fog. It didn't help. "She's certainly taking her time at it, whatever it is."

"Yyyyyes," said Nick. His voice was low and slow, and his ears had gone flat without him really thinking about it. He squinted. Stared hard.

Something in his brain was clicking rapidly. Memories and ideas raced around and around and around, chasing one another. Getting closer.

After a few seconds, he realized that Judy was looking at him.

"You're getting something," she said. It wasn't a question.

He gnawed on a lip. "Maybe," he said. His eyes moved back to Reynard. "Maybe. I'm still thinking."

"My turn to offer a penny for your thoughts, then?"

Another glance towards her. She was smiling, looking amused, almost proud. He swallowed.

"Not here," he muttered under his breath, as he looked back to the door. "I think it's best we stay quiet for now. But later. Once we're back at my place." He paused. _"If_ we get back to my place."

Whatever discussion Reynard was having, it seemed to have ended. The little rectangle of light suddenly cut itself in half.

Another blink.

"She's not coming out?" said Judy.

The doorway was nearly closed, now. The elephant was no longer visible. Reynard herself was only a tiny, ink-black shape. It was impossible even to tell which way she was looking, now.

Nonetheless, Nick got the distinct impression that she was staring right at him, with the same odd, piercing look in her eyes.

Click.

Nick couldn't stop the quiet "oh" that slipped across his tongue.

Judy gave him another look. "And you're really gonna hold out on me until we get back to your place, huh?" she said. "You're a shameless tease."

There was a cold, quiet sensation settling in Nick's gut, even stronger than the numbness starting to eat into his toes. The look he gave Judy caused her little smile to fall instantly away.

She put one paw on his chest, just below his collarbone, and held his gaze. "Nick," she murmured. "What's wrong?"

He licked his lips and shook his head once. "Not here, Carrots," he whispered. "Somebody could be listening." He flicked an ear towards the door towards the driver's compartment.

She nodded, once. Then she hesitated, just a second, before leaning in to hug him.

She was very warm. And very, very small.

He took a deep breath, wrapped both arms around her, and squeezed once. Then he released his grip, forced a smile back onto his face, and said, "Thanks, Carrots."

She opened her mouth to reply, but the front door to the mansion opened again before she could get the words out. They both turned to look.

Koslov was lumbering down the driveway towards them again.

Judy scrambled off of his lap and seated herself beside him. He was mildly impressed by her attempt to mask the worry. It wasn't perfect - her ears were still twitching too much and her eyes kept darting towards him instead of staying on Koslov's approaching shape - but it was pretty good, really.

He, of course, was looking perfectly relaxed by the time the door opened, letting in the arctic air outside and freezing him all over again. Or, at least, as relaxed as he could look while trying to massage some life back into his frozen toes.

"Koslov, my man," he said through chattering teeth. "Gonna have to give it another five minutes or so, I think. We should be popsicles by-"

"Mister Big extends his apologies for having to decline your offer of visitation," rumbled the bear.

Judy tilted her head to the side as she peered up at as much of Koslov was visible through the doorway. "What?"

"It is a busy night and your visit will have to wait until some other time," said Koslov flatly. "You have his sincerest apologies. Good night."

"Wait, _wha-"_ Judy started again.

The door shut.

As Koslov and the escort outside their door strode away, and the limousine engine thrummed into life, Judy sat back on the seat and gave Nick a look of pure bewilderment.

"Okay," she said. "Am I the only one who feels like we just missed something?"

Nick smacked his lips, wrapped his frozen tail around himself, and leaned back. "Not nearly so much as we might have, Carrots," he muttered.

That icy, knife-sharp feeling in his gut was only getting stronger as the limousine pulled back out of the driveway and started down the roads of Tundratown again. Even the return of heat from the air conditioning vents didn't help to dissipate it. He could still see, in his mind's eye, Reynard standing silhouetted in the doorway, with her head turned towards him and that strange, questioning look on her features.

Click. Click. Click.

Nick twitched the curtains on his living room window aside, just by an inch or two, and pressed his muzzle flat against the glass as he stared out.

The driveway was empty. The street lights shone on nothing but empty asphalt. All the lights in the other houses were already off, save for the occasional glow of a television screen.

Behind him, there was a thumping noise as Judy dropped the remains of their takeout into the trash. It had still been lying on the sidewalk where she had dropped it when they returned.

"Shame," she said. "I'm starving. And I don't think you've got much in the way of leafy greens on hand."

"Can't say I do, no," said Nick distantly.

There was a little sigh, and then the soft padding of footsteps before Judy's paw settled on his shoulder and tugged gently. "Nick," she whispered.

He let the curtain fall back into place, turned, and moved back to the front door. There was only a standard lock on it. Why hadn't he at least taken the time to install a deadbolt? Useless thing. He checked and triple-checked it anyway, shook the doorknob to be sure.

" _Nick."_

This time, the tug was less gentle. He looked back at her over his shoulder.

The only light on was in the kitchen. Most of Judy was in shadow, but her eyes were _huge._ They caught every bit of light in the place and reflected it back at him, shining and brilliant.

"Talk to me."

Nick stared for a long time.

Then he clapped his front paws together and shook himself, physically as well as mentally. The ice water in his mind hadn't gone away, but he forced himself to rise above it. "Right," he said. "Right. Sorry, Carrots. Just… lots on my mind."

"I can see that," she said. Her voice was a bit warmer now. "So share the load a bit. You don't have to do this alone any more, remember?"

Despite himself, despite the seriousness and dread swirling through his brain, he smiled. And meant it. "Yeah," he said. "I know. It's just… hard to know where to start."

"Anywhere," said Judy. "But how about the couch, for now? I'll see if I can find anything vaguely edible in the fridge. You talk."

"Sounds good to me." The smile was still there as he watched her turn and stride away towards the kitchen, but it took him a minute to get his own legs working, and when he lowered himself onto the cushions again, the adrenaline in his veins had them jittering uselessly.

It surprised him, a bit, to realize that he wasn't at all uncomfortable with letting the mask down this far. To let someone else see the vague panic that was settling in him.

But only a bit.

It was Judy, after all.

He exhaled slowly, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. His uniform was still more than a bit damp, and just the slightest bit frozen, but at least it was warmer here. It was comfortable. It was safe. He could talk. They were safe.

He took a moment listening to the sounds of Judy rummaging through his fridge to reassure himself of that.

Then he licked his lips.

"I think," he said, "that Reynard is trying to tell me something."

"Really?" Judy slid some drawer or other open and began digging around inside. "I thought we'd established that everything she said or did was probably an act."

"It is," said Nick. "But that's the thing, Carrots. It's an act. She's a con artist. And I think she knows _I'm_ a con artist. Or I was. Jack knew my reputation, at least. Not too much of a stretch to think she does as well."

"All right." More rummaging. "So she knows you were a con. What sort of special powers does that-" She stopped. "Okay, no. Hold on. You're saying it _is_ all an act, but… by watching the act, you can figure out what she wants you to think. Right?"

Nick nodded at the air. "Uh huh. And she knows that. So she's letting me see things."

"Like her turning up at Big's place. Do you have _anything_ in here that's vegetarian?"

"I'm a predator, Carrots. Take a guess. You could probably pick some veggies out of a soup can or something."

"Fine." The refrigerator door shut. A cabinet opened. "But the Big place."

He nodded again. "The Big place," he said. "She was there, so us getting called in had something to do with the case. And whatever kept us waiting, and made Mister Big change his mind about talking, had something to do with her."

"So she stopped us from getting information?" Judy's voice was slightly muffled, like she had her head actually inside the cabinet itself. "Doesn't seem very helpful."

"Or she stopped us from getting iced," Nick said. "Or… I don't know. Could have been anything. We're not seeing everything here. But the point is, we saw _her._ And there was no reason for us to."

There was a squeak of surprise from the other room. "You have a can of minestrone back here," she said. The cabinet shut. "Way in the back, but you do. It must be _ancient._ But okay. Keep going. I'm listening."

Nick waved his paws at nothing. "Don't you see?" he said. "Carrots, she _knew_ we were there. And there was nothing she could gain from letting us know that she was involved with whatever happened there tonight. Nothing. All it could possibly do was make us more suspicious of her, and she _knows_ that, and she _did it anyway._ She _made sure_ we saw. You said it yourself. She was in that doorway forever, arguing with Koslov, and she didn't even come out. The only reason she could have had to do that was if she wanted us to see her. She wanted to give us information, or a warning, or whatever it was. And she kept giving me this look, when we were in Dawes' place, like she wanted something from me, but I didn't know what it was."

The microwave hummed into life. A moment later, the cushion under him listed to the side as Judy sat down, legs folded under her, and tilted her head at him. "And now you think you do."

Nick sighed. "Yeah," he muttered. "I think I do."

He sat up and looked over towards her. "I don't think she killed Effie," he said. "I think she's trying to stop someone else from getting killed."

Judy's ear twitched. "You said 'someone'," she said. "Not 'anyone'."

He nodded.

In unison, they said, "Jack."

He stood up, folded his hands behind his back, and began to pace, tail swishing through the air behind him. "I mean, think about it," he said. His voice stumbled over itself, picking up speed and intensity as it went, gathering momentum. "Jack said that she turned up at his apartment and told him to leave. I wasn't sure whether or not that was her messing with him again, maybe trying to goad him into getting more involved, but- literally everything she's done has basically been telling Jack to stay out of this. She even _told_ _me_ to keep him out of trouble. But Jack was so sure she was lying, just trying to keep him out to protect herself or something like that, that I kind of bought into it, too. The shifty, lying fox. She definitely acts like one. And Jack's stories make her sound like one."

Judy picked up the train of sentences with the same energy, snatching it up from where he left off and running with it. "But Jack isn't the best source here," she said. "He's got enough baggage to fill an entire airport. And-" she jumped upright on his couch, practically vibrating with excitement "-and this whole thing started because he didn't listen to her at the start. _He_ went to Reynard's office. _He_ talked to Miss Perine. _He_ went around chatting up all her old contacts when she'd asked him to stay away. She's just trying to keep him out of it. She's trying to keep him _safe._ And she's trying to warn _you_ so that you can do it _for_ her."

Nick stopped his marching across the floorboards, and his head snapped around to face her. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Nick," she said. "Nick, this is _great._ We've got- she's on our side! We've got an _informant!_ I mean, she's not really the easiest one to get information out of, but-"

She stopped when she caught sight of his expression.

"She's not an informant, Carrots," he said quietly. "She's a hostage."

Slowly, Judy's ears drooped. "Oh."

"She can't talk to us," said Nick slowly, "because she's never alone. And she can't get close to Jack, because she can't afford to let any of her associates know she's trying to protect him."

"Dawes and Cairo," murmured Judy.

He nodded.

"You think one of them killed Miss Perine?" It wasn't really a question. It was more of a request for confirmation.

He nodded again. "One or both," he said. "I know Dawes sets off all the bells on my danger radar. I've only known a few guys that do that, Carrots. Even Koslov is just _intimidating._ " He grimaced. _"Very_ intimidating, because you know he could kill you easier than breathing. But he's not… he's not _psycho._ And there are guys you meet, when you do the kind of jobs I used to, who are. Real nutjobs, Judy. The kind of mammals you just don't get involved with, because if you do, you'll be lucky to leave with just a few pieces missing."

She inhaled. "And she's in too far to get out safely," she finished for him. "She got mixed up with him, somehow, and now she's stuck."

Another nod. Silence.

Judy frowned at him for a moment. Then she drew back, just slightly, and held up both paws. "Okay," she said. "Okay. We're getting ahead of ourselves here. We're… we're just speculating, right now. We don't _know_ any of this yet."

Nick returned the frown. "I think we kind of do, Carrots."

She met his gaze, held it, and nodded once. "Okay," she said again. "You're confident. I won't lie. I kind of believe it, too. But we can't just run off on this and assume it's right. We have to have proof. I mean, we don't even have a motive yet. All of this could be totally wrong, and she could be playing us somehow in ways we don't understand. And even _if_ Dawes, or Cairo, or both of them, killed Miss Perine, and now Reynard is trying to protect Jack… we've got to actually _prove_ all of that. We're cops. We can't just walk in and arrest Dawes on a hunch. Even if it's a strong hunch."

His frown deepened as his eyes dropped to the badge on her uniform. "Yeah," he muttered. "Due process and all that. But that's the thing. Remember what Jack said about targets? About Effie getting killed because of paranoia?"

"Cops poking around," she said quietly. "And dragging Jack along with them." She slapped one paw over her eyes and groaned. "Oh, sweet biscuits. No wonder you looked like you were about to throw up."

"And she kept looking at _me,"_ said Nick. "Not you, Carrots. _Me._ The con fox. She kept saying that her personal life wasn't a concern for the police. She kept stressing that word."

"Because cops ask questions," muttered Judy. _"I_ ask questions. All the uncomfortable questions, until you have to drag me out of Dawes' apartment. Cops make all of this dangerous for her. For Jack."

In the kitchen, the microwave beeped.

"All right," said Nick. He stepped forward, a tiny smile returning to his face, and reached up to pull Judy's paw away from her eyes. "Well. We've realized it a bit late, but hey. Whether or not I'm right, we can be more careful from now on until we're sure. At least keep him out of the Dooryard and away from Reynard. We'll find the proof and arrest the crazies and save the day, just like always, right?"

She smiled back. "Right," she said. Like this, standing on the couch, she was just about at eye level. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Please," said Nick. His smile became a grin. "You are so far past 'like' it's not even funny, Carrots. And you know it."

One of her ears twitched again, and he saw the slightest twinge of embarrassment in her eyes before the microwave beeped again, more insistently, and she turned away. "Do I know that?" She hopped down from the couch and strode away into the kitchen again. "Maybe. It depends on how tonight goes."

He laughed. "All right," he said. "Fair enough. I'll do my best to make the rest of this enjoyable. Until we both pass out, anyway."

"No more case?" she called over her shoulder.

"No more case," he agreed. "Not tonight. I'm exhausted." He caught sight of the drawn curtains out of the corner of his eye, paused for a moment, then shook himself. "We've only got one night before we have to deal with all of that again," he said. "And I intend to make the most of it."

"Same," said Judy, as she lifted the bowl of canned soup down from the microwave. "Better rest up. You're the one who's going to have to break the news to Jack about him getting benched tomorrow."

Nick grimaced. "Why me?" he said.

"Because you didn't think of saying it first," she said smugly.

"Pah." Nick threw himself down onto the couch, sprawling over the worn upholstery and groaning at the ache in his limbs. "Why do I always end up being the one who has to deal with the crazy rabbits with death wishes?"

"Because," said Judy, as she carried the little bowl back over towards him, "you're the best at it. Keeping me out of trouble is pretty much your entire job description."

"I need a raise." Nick mumbled out the words into a pillow as she sat down on the edge of the couch by his midriff.

"Oh, please. You're doing fine." She lifted a spoonful of steaming soup, blew gently on it, and slurped up the broth. "I mean, you've been pulling my grits out of the fire on a daily basis since we met. How hard could managing _him_ be?"

In the dark of the alleyway, Jack Savage's ears swiveled rapidly back and forth, listening to the approaching footsteps. They were soft and slow, careful, deliberate. But he knew he was out of sight, and he was too practiced at this to make any sound.

The searcher was drawing nearer now. Only a few yards away.

Jack's paw settled on the grip of his revolver.

 _Showtime._


End file.
